


Run For the Woods Now

by jmcats



Series: Run For the Woods Now [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid!Fic, M/M, Zayn angst, Zerrie - past tense, Ziam Fluff, larry stylinson - Freeform, ziam, ziam smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn knows some of the best and worst moments start with one of Louis' ideas.  Still, it's almost as if everyone knew where this, his life, was going when Harry and Liam moved into Wagner’s old flat, with that stupid plant sitting in the doorway, and too many cigarettes and Justin Timberlake for any of this to have been one of those classically clichéd love stories.</p><p>And Zayn doesn't do clichés.  Not until Liam, that is.</p><p>(Based off of <a href="http://fanficsforboybands.tumblr.com/post/48404004271/can-someone-write-me-a-smut-filled-ziam-one-shot">this prompt</a> by the lovely Caitlin -- though it's a bit more than just that)</p><p>- Companion piece: <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/833882">We Lie Awake At Night</a> -</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run For the Woods Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scottmcniceass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/gifts).



> After my last story, I needed to write some a bit more fluffy; sweeter than cotton candy, even though this story ended up having as much angst as fluff. But who doesn't need a reason to smile at Zayn and Liam, right?
> 
> This story is completely dedicated to one Caitlin ([scottmcniceass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass)) who not only inspires me with all of her wonderful stories but also with her genuine kindness and motivation. I think she sort of deserves something nice, yeah? Thanks for the prompt (even though it went completely sideways from what you asked for) and I hope you like this Caitlin!
> 
> Warning: Tons of foul language, some good old fashion smut, and, well, other stuff that may be offensive. Or not.
> 
> Title taken from "You and I" by Paper Route (Ha, thanks for that too Caitlin!)

Zayn doesn’t know why he’s doing this.  No, wait, yes he does – _Louis Tomlinson_.

If you asked him, Louis had some of the worst ideas ever thought of by a single human being.  In fact, if you asked _several_ people who actually knew Louis, they’d agree.  Not that any of them could say they knew Louis quite like Zayn did.  He’s known Louis since he was a loud, unimaginably bright kid with ideas that were borderline genius until he put them into motion and then it was just disastrous.  But Louis was nine then and Zayn had just moved to town with his family, the new kid in the neighborhood who was two years younger than Louis but thought the world of him.  And maybe that was because Louis was older so, naturally, he came across as smarter, wittier, cooler than anyone Zayn had ever been around – which happened to be very few people outside of his older sister, Doniya, and his many cousins but none of them counted.

The Louis back then was a tad tamer, but not by much.  He was talkative with suspenders, silky hair, way too bright blue eyes and the kind of smile that made mothers melt even though it was just a wonderful disguise for the anti-Christ that Louis truly was.  And Zayn?  He was a kid with dodgy haircuts, clothes way too big for his small frame, incredibly shy and quiet who dotted around Louis like he was the best thing ever.

Zayn’s quite certain that around fifteen and that prank on the football team that nearly got Louis kicked out of secondary and had Zayn suspended for three days – something his mum still reminds him of any chance she gets – that Louis was far from the greatest thing to ever walk into Zayn’s life.

“Why are we,” Zayn has to huff out a breath between his words, struggling to maneuver around the corners of the halls, “doing this again?”

Zayn can barely see Louis around the insanely large plant, not one of those fake ones that were cheap and manageable, but a real live one that’s impossibly tall and needs water, sunlight, and the kinds of attention that Zayn definitely didn’t have the time for.  Still, he knows that if he could see Louis’ face, he’d be shooting Zayn an incredulous look, probably mouthing _“Fuck yourself”_ with an edged smirk.  That was the kind of guy Louis Tomlinson was – wickedly mental ideas with the nerve to challenge you when you didn’t agree.

“Your flat needs some _life_ ,” Louis says with an exasperated tone, tipping side to side as he tries to help carry the plant though Zayn can tell he’s the one doing most of the work.

“It has life,” Zayn insists, nearly dropping the potted plant once they reach the door to his flat.

Louis groans, leaping backward when some of the dirt flies from the ceramic pot.  He peeks around those wild and large green leaves, eyes narrowed with his brow lowered.  There’s a pout on his lips, a grin on Zayn’s because he knows Louis is deathly fearful of dirt and things of that nature.

“It does not you arse,” Louis snaps, dusting at invisible specks of dirt along his tight chinos, the ones that are rolled up at the ankles and Zayn shakes his head when he reads the tattoo etched into Louis’ tan skin in dark ink: _The Rogue_.

He still doesn’t understand Louis’ choices in tattoos, but then again, Louis always said the same thing about Zayn.  But Zayn’s were artful and Louis’ were… anything but artful.  Silly, he thinks, leaning up against the door as Louis fixes the maroon beanie over his brown hair.  After all of this time, he still thinks he’s in some kind of awe of Louis because, honestly, Louis just doesn’t give a shit if he’s right or wrong.  He’s just himself, no questions asked.

“And why do you think,” Zayn tilts his head while looking at the plant, waving a hand in front of it, “will make the place look any better?”

“Because,” Louis says flatly, hands finding his hips, “everyone knows plants are the world’s main source of life.  Did you not take science at that awful school of ours?”

“Slept through it,” Zayn snorts, arms folding over his chest.  “Math too.”

“I blew my way through math,” Louis says fondly, a faraway gaze lighting up his eyes.  He shoots Zayn a smirk before adding, “Literally.  Remember that dick Tom Parker?”

Zayn makes a face, nodding slowly.

Louis laughs to himself, rubbing at his chin.  “He became quite the little douche when he got out of that school but he was rather brilliant when it came to equations.  Blew him every Thursday for answers to Friday’s quiz.  Mastered my deep throat technique – “

“That’s enough Lou,” Zayn sighs, throwing a hand over his eyes because, really, he’s not interested.

Louis’ always been forthcoming when it comes to sexuality – “If you’re interested, I don’t think I should limit myself to whether you have a dick or a vagina.  Everyone needs that sort of love and attention.”  No one seemed to give him shit about it, maybe his father once or twice, but no one at their school, not even when Louis started University.  Zayn thinks it has something to do with a fourth of the football team having already done something incriminating with Louis either before or after joining the team and Louis’ has a very selective range of beautiful girlfriends, including Rebecca, who Zayn totally had a thing for even though she was much older than him, Sophie, who used Louis as much as Louis used her, Amelia, who was as daft as she was blonde, and Eleanor.

Zayn thinks, no matter how much Louis denies it, Louis really did love Eleanor.  Maybe it was the way she, of all people, didn’t put up with Louis’ shit or the way she had a heart twice the size of anyone Louis’ ever known.  But there was definitely something about the way Louis looked at Eleanor, all smiles and giddiness that had Zayn taking a piss at Louis whenever they were alone.  Eleanor was the only one Zayn actually liked, still does, even though he knows whatever it was they had is completely platonic now and, if Zayn had to sort it all out, he’d say that was more El’s decision than Louis’.

“Besides, you wouldn’t know good taste if you tried.  You and your shit choices in music,” Louis whines.

“Usher is _not_ shit.  Neither is Bruno Mars,” Zayn argues lightly.  “We can’t all worship the Fray, Adele, and Katy Perry.”

“Do not dare say Katy Perry is shit,” Louis warns with a pointed finger.  “You like her too.”

He might be just a little right, but Zayn’s not going to admit it.  Not out loud.

“You and your awful wardrobe with your leather jackets in June,” Louis fusses, lips pursed.

“Jealous?”

Louis howls out a laugh, head shaking.  “Of what?  Leather jackets and quiffs aren’t even cool anymore Zayn.”

“This coming from the spokesperson for Topman.  Honestly Lou, not everyone can afford it.”

“You can,” Louis says matter-of-factly.

He’s right, _again_ , but Zayn needs his money for far more important things.  Things he chooses not to remind Louis of even though, if he did, Louis would retract more than half of what he’d just said.

“Whatever.  Your flat is a big pile of dullness and only someone as wildly creative as myself can solve that problem for you,” Louis declares, smiling brightly.  Yeah, the devil is in there somewhere.

“With this?” Zayn sighs, head jerking toward the plant.  It truly was ridiculously large and unnecessary.

“Yes,” Louis beams, ruffling some of the leaves before pouting when one snaps off.  He looks as wounded as Charlie Brown with a Christmas tree, something Zayn smirks at.

“Fine,” Zayn finally groans, spinning around before yanking his keys from his pocket.  He can hear Louis mumbling sweet endearment to the plant and, fuck, he can’t help but smile when he turns and finds Louis petting the leaves gently.

“Wow.  Nice plant.”

Zayn has to push some of the large leaves aside – stupid Louis and his fucking stupid plans – to find where that voice comes from and his eyes get a bit wide when he spots a tall, slender boy at the end of the hall with soft brown curls, large green eyes, cherry lips pushed up into a smile, and a face way too youthful to match that deep voice Zayn had just heard.  He’s got a nice layer of sweat sticking to his forehead, leaning against that old wooden banister leading downstairs with a small box in his large hands, _‘Harry’s Shit’_ written in thick black marker on the side.  His white t-shirt sort of hangs off of his frame, the collar dipping low enough that Zayn can see the tattoos drawn into his skin: the twin birds, the _’17 BLACK’_ which Zayn only sees when the guy adjusts the box under one arm with one of those A-typical cross necklaces dangling back and forth from his neck.  And those pants, the ones Zayn catches Louis _staring_ at, are too tight on his legs with brown suede shoes on and it all seems a bit out of place for someone who seems to be moving in.

Zayn looks past the plant to the apartment across the hall, the one with the door wide open and Zayn can see a littering of boxes, a few plastic trash bags, suitcases, and small furniture.  He nods, realizes that someone is finally moving into that impossibly nice but quiet Wagner’s old flat.  He snaps his head back in the direction of the young guy, who’s now walking forward with an even sunnier smile that Zayn quirks an eyebrow at.  He chews on his bottom lip, leaning against the door to his flat again, watches the way Louis gapes at the boy and, _fuck_ , it’s happening.

The brilliant thing about Louis is he’s almost too easy for Zayn to read.  It’s always in the body language, the tone of his voice, the way he fucking says everything on his insanely wild mind with just those satin blue eyes.  And it’s right there, in the way those lips curl at the corners, those eyes blink momentarily before turning a bit feral, the way those eyebrows lift and, shit, Louis’ dragging his beanie off and fixing his hair right in front of this painfully fit kid.  Zayn rolls his eyes, tips his head back and he waits on it.  He sees it,  the game of cat and mouse – _Put the window down, come on over here. Put the worries out of your head_ – except, the way this kid’s grin is dragging upward with slow like honey glances over Louis, Zayn wonders who’ll be the cat this time?

“She really is a beauty,” the curly-haired kid says, lopsided grin on his lips for Louis, a smaller one for Zayn.

“Thank you,” Louis smiles back, eyebrows wagging.  “And you are?”

“ _Oh_ ,” comes out first before he’s shifting that box underneath an arm, wiping his hand on his pants, extending it out toward Louis.  “I’m Harry.  Harry Styles.”

“Harry,” Louis repeats, drawls it out just as slow as Harry did, quirked grin on his lips as he shakes Harry’s hand, letting his linger in Harry’s for far too long.  “Harry Styles.”

“Yes,” Harry says with an arched eyebrow, pulling his hand from Louis’ obviously too tight grip.

“Right,” Louis stutters out, snapping out of his daydream which Zayn is quite certain was rather filthy by the way Louis’ licking at his lips.  “I’m Louis Tomlinson and that ridiculously beautiful bloke in the shitty mood behind me would be one Zayn Malik.”

Zayn nods toward Harry, lips pressed into a thin line when Harry nods back with a bright grin.  This kid’s for real, right?

“You two live here,” Harry starts, eyes darting between Zayn and Louis suspiciously, “together?”

Louis barks out a laugh, Zayn scratching the back of his head with a frown.  He shakes his head when he catches the way Louis lets the laugh go on for too long, hand on his own chest as he doubles over, resting his other hand on Harry’s chest for support and, seriously, Louis wasn’t actually _groping_ Harry’s chest, was he?  Zayn snorts, spots the way Harry shoots Louis a disbelieving glare until Louis snaps upright, grinning, blush heating his cheeks.

“Not at all,” Louis declares, batting his eyelashes in a far too dramatic fashion for Zayn’s liking but Harry’s lips are softening to a smile again.

“ _I_ live here,” Zayn finally speaks up, Harry’s eyes falling on him.  “Me and my flatmate, actually.  Lou here lives on the other side of town.”

“Not that this side of town isn’t quite lovely,” Louis insists.

“Not _quite_ what you said the other day Lou when – “

“Are you _quite_ finished?” Louis hisses out, looking over his shoulder at Zayn with that _‘Shut the fuck up’_ look Louis has mastered far better than any look in his repertoire.

Zayn chuckles, tips his head back with his arms folded over his chest.  He nods toward Louis, shrugging when Louis’ grits his teeth.

“Hey Haz, are you going to help me get the settee up here or what?”

Zayn catches where the sound of that voice comes from out the corner of his eye, everything sliding a bit sideways when he turns his head.  He blinks a few times because his vision is a little hazy and he swallows that lump in his throat, the one that’s choking him as he looks on the new face at the end of the hall.  He licks at his lips – _I’ve seen everything I need ever know. Nothing quite so good as you_ – and that tip of his gravity settles itself once again.

Zayn doesn’t do cliché – in fact, he’s completely against the idea that anyone’s heart actually stops when they lay eyes on someone.  There’s no such thing as love at fucking first sight.  He’s never laid eyes on a single person and imagined the rest of his life with them.  He doesn’t hear silly love songs in his head when he looks at someone and, _fuck_ , he’s certain, despite what Renee Zellweger and Louis might say, you don’t have anyone at “Hello.”

But, maybe, he should reevaluate his thoughts on life because his heart sort of beats a little out of syncopation, his palms are a bit sweaty, and what the hell was going on inside of his stomach?

Zayn decides the fixation starts with the hair.  It’s buzzed off, military-style, but Zayn can see the length starting to grow in at the top.  It’s brown, probably a blonde-brown in the sunlight and Zayn doesn’t imagine running his fingers over it to see if it’s stiff and sharp or prickly and soft.  Then there’s those eyes; they’re big and a solid brown but not dark like molasses.  No, they’re like the chocolate on the outside of a Reese’s cup, the glimmer alone making Zayn drag his tongue slowly over his lips.  He’s got round cheeks, incredibly soft-looking, with a nose that Zayn actually envisions kissing the tip of during the winter, watching that beautiful mouth fold into a grin.  And those lips, pink with a thick bottom lip.  Zayn rubs at his neck, wonders what those kisses taste like.  Probably sugar and something sharp like the acid from an orange.

He’s got nice arms, ones that flex when he rubs at his t-shirt with thick fingers that Zayn imagines are calloused from doing things Zayn wants to watch daily.  Those muscles stretch out the fabric of his white shirt, pulling at the thin cotton where his shoulders are, tight enough to see a chest that’s probably been crafted by the Gods or something.  Zayn grins at the birthmark on his neck, that long stretch of skin that Zayn swallows at when the younger boy leans his head back to take a lengthy swallow of water from a plastic bottle.  His cock twitches, lips dry again when he thinks about dragging his teeth down that neck, licking his way back up to that chin that’s spotted with a light dusting of scruff that’s not nearly as thick as Zayn’s.  And he’s fit, fuck, like he works out all the time.  It even shows in his legs, the way his jeans cling to his thighs and he probably comes across as plain to the rest of the world, or someone like Louis, with his white Converse scuffing against the hardwood floor of the hallway but Zayn thinks he’s quite interesting.  Very tempting.  He looks like the kind of kid Zayn should be screwing right now, on that ratty couch in his apartment with his mouth over the that poor kid’s, swallowing each of his moans while those thick fingers pinch at Zayn’s hips until there’s finger-shaped bruises and a reason for Zayn to remember this guy’s name later on.

The thing is, unlike Louis, it took Zayn a little longer to realize he may or may not be open to being with a man.  A realization that came at possibly the worst time when he was eight months from graduating secondary school, had an insanely gorgeous girlfriend, and the weight of the world on his shoulders from his parents.  The same parents who didn’t talk to him for two weeks – well his mum didn’t; he’s still not sure if his baba has accepted that portion of his life – and warned him his “poor choices” in life had better not affect him graduating or keeping his scholarship to that University in Denton.  It did and Zayn’s certain they still haven’t forgiven him for that.

But he was sixteen, no, _almost_ seventeen and it scared the shit out of him.  When do you wake up in the middle of science class, staring at the blonde kid two seats in front of you and wonder what his cock would feel like along your tongue?  And he’s quite sure no one understood him, not that he went around telling the world.  Still, his back was against the wall when, in fact, he did find out what that guy’s dick felt like, eyes watery and throat stricken raw when that asshole pushed a little too far in and nearly had Zayn throwing up that fucking awful cafeteria lunch over the poor guy’s chinos.  He denied it, that douche, not Zayn, and Louis cuddled up to Zayn hours later after climbing through Zayn’s bedroom window – a great feat considering Louis is not too fond of heights or anything that’s physical outside of sex, of course.

Louis wiped away his tears, listened when Zayn confessed to not knowing what the fuck he was doing and he didn’t for months until Louis made him comfortable with himself again.  Louis reminded him, “You’re still that fucked up kid with the weird accent, some stupid affinity for Harry Potter, bless your damned soul, and no one’s going to change that.  If you marry a woman, decide to sleep around with half the guys in this fucked up town, you’ll still be _Zayn_.  You’ll still be my best mate.  And, even if they don’t say it, the honest people in your life still love you.  So, now, let’s get shitfaced.”  And, despite it’s very heartfelt if not typically Louis-style meaning, it took Zayn only a week later to be himself again.

He hasn’t been anything less since then, despite the chaos that followed months later, and he hasn’t regretted a minute of any of it.

“Liam, come,” Harry says grandly, waving to the guy who is quite obviously a friend by the way Harry grins, “meet our new neighbors.  Or, new neighbor and his, uh – “

“His best mate,” Louis sings out, taking a step back before tossing an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, jerking him close.  He grins manically, Zayn rolling his eyes once before he hears Louis add, “His very _single_ best mate.”

Zayn groans audibly, mouth snapping shut when those chocolate brown eyes fall on him.  He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, watching that fit lad, _Liam_ , watching Liam take a few hesitant steps toward Harry, wiping the sweat slicking his brow with the hem of his t-shirt.  Zayn hopes he didn’t just suck in a deep inhale when he saw those abs, the ones that are insanely chiseled and defined with a nice thick trail of hair leading into those tight black Polo briefs, except he knows he did because Louis’ got wide eyes and a smile when he looks at Zayn.

“You little shit,” Louis hisses lowly and Zayn’s curling his upper lip, shrugging off Louis’ arm just as Liam sidles up next to Harry.

“Right,” Harry grins out, nudging his shoulder against Liam’s while looking on Louis.  “This is Louis and Zayn.”

“Charmed,” Louis says with a crinkled nose and upturned smile.

Liam nods at him, small welcoming smile that Zayn sort of clings to.  But, not really because that would be way too clichéd, right?

“Vas happenin’,” Zayn says with a grin, accent going a little thicker and, fuck, he feels like a complete douche.  He wants to punch Louis’ shoulder with the way he’s giving Zayn those same large eyes, the ones that keep saying _“You’re a daft little fuck,”_ and there’s freckled blush kissing Zayn’s cheeks when Harry’s own green eyes get a little bigger.

But Liam?  His smile pushes those cheeks a little higher for a moment, rubbing at his chin and Zayn wishes he could read what those eyes were saying but then Liam’s shrinking a little, merely nodding at Zayn before turning to Harry.

“The stuff Haz,” Liam says, jerking his head toward the stairs and Zayn narrows his eyes.  “We need to get it up here before, I don’t know, someone nicks some of our crap or something.  Plus you know we don’t have long on the moving truck.  And my dad will – “

“Kill you if you don’t get his truck back to him before five,” Harry sighs, finishing Liam’s words with an eye roll.  He jumps when Liam does punch his shoulder, Zayn finding it impossible not to grin.

“Wanker,” Liam whispers with a hiss.

Harry rubs at his shoulder, pushed out pout on his cherry lips.  “You dick.”

Liam raises his fist again and Harry’s quick to throw his hands up apologetically, taking a few clumsy steps backwards while dropping his box.  Liam smirks, arm lowering before giving Harry’s box a stiff kick for good measure.  Zayn watches with an amused expression, eyeing the way Louis snorts and rests a head on Zayn’s shoulder.

Harry shoots them a curious look, one that’s asking _“Are you two together?”_ and Louis must’ve seen it too because he’s straightening up quickly, giving Zayn a dramatic shove that leaves Zayn off balance and reaching for something to grab onto, which happens to be that stupid plant.  He snaps off a leaf, staring at it with wide eyes, avoiding the glare Louis’ shooting him.

“Well, uh, we should probably get back to moving all of this stuff in.  We’ve got loads of stuff,” Harry says, dragging his fingers through his curls and they look tangled and unsettled yet it works for Harry.

“Right, of course,” Louis chimes, clapping his hands together.  “You should stop by later,” Louis grins, catches the way Liam lowers his eyes at Louis, “ _Both_ of you, I mean.  Come by later.  We’ll be cooking and there will be wine.  Maybe a mini-celebration for the new neighbors, right Zee?”

Zayn narrows his eyes at Louis.  He hates when Louis calls him Zee.  It’s some stupid pet name Louis throws out when he’s trying too hard.  This would be one of those occasions.

Zayn shrugs when Harry gives him a look, goes along with Louis by nodding while fisting his hands into the pockets of his sweats.  He lets his eyes drift over Liam who’s staring down at the stairwell, rubbing at the back of his neck with his jaw tensing.  Zayn tilts his head back, studies the curve of Liam’s jaw, the golden hair that lines it, the way those cheeks look like they might feel wonderful under Zayn’s lips.

Fuck, this kid is completely ruining him without even trying.

“Sounds great,” Harry beams, walking blindly toward Liam because his eyes are still sort of on Louis and Zayn.

When he collides into Liam’s back, Liam grabbing the banister for support while blush riddles Harry’s cheeks, Zayn grins, bites back his laugh because Louis does snicker, full on as Harry ducks his head.  They stumble down the steps, Liam hissing something and Harry grumbling something back that sounds a bit impolite.

“I don’t cook,” Zayn notes when Louis spins on his heels.  “You don’t either.”

Louis’ face falls a little, chin tipping downward as he thinks over the idea.  He shrugs, pushes past Zayn to get inside his flat, stomping immediately toward that ratty couch before dropping down on it, kicking his feet up on that coffee table Doniya had bought for him with the little bit of leftover money from her paycheck at the boutique she works at.

Zayn gives Louis an incredulous look, waving his hand in front of the plant and, _really_ , how the hell were they going to get that stupid thing through the doorframe?  Louis waves him off, tipping his head back with his eyes on the ceiling.  He crosses his feet at the ankles, toeing off his Tom’s before humming.

“We can get takeaway.  They’ll never know,” Louis says, hands waving in the air.  “And we must get wine.  That Harry kid looks like he drinks red.  Pasta goes good with red.”

“Pasta goes with _white_ ,” Zayn corrects him, tries to drag the plant inside but gives up when it starts to tip and nearly topple over on top of him.  “Steak goes with red wine.”

Louis’ brow lifts, eyes growing a little large and Zayn flips him off before he can say anything.  Yeah, so he knows a few random facts.  He doesn’t need Louis giving him shit or taking a piss at him about it.

“Fuck, wine is wine Zayn,” Louis sighs out, pushing back the fringe on his forehead.  “I just want to get the new guy pissed and see if he’s any good in the bed.”

“That’s _all_ you want?” Zayn asks, eyebrow arching.

“Maybe,” Louis replies with a shrug, head tilting to the side.  “I might like the way he talks.  Maybe I want to get to know him.”

“Have you already named your firstborn together?” Zayn teases, dropping down onto the couch next to Louis with a chuckle.

“No, you twat,” Louis fusses, smacking Zayn’s thigh.  He rolls his eyes, giving Zayn a playful shove before whispering, “But it might be Emily if it’s a girl.”

Zayn nearly falls off the couch with laughter, feet kicking and Louis sinking lower into the cushions, arms folded over his chest with a pout.  Zayn wipes at his eyes, nibbling at his bottom lip before slipping an arm around Louis’ slumped shoulders, pulling him close.  He presses a teasing kiss to Louis’ temple, smirking when Louis leans into his touch, head laying back against Zayn’s shoulder.

“That thing is a bit ridiculous,” Louis says lowly, waving a finger at the plant still standing tall outside of Zayn’s door.

“Yeah,” Zayn huffs out, dreading the thought of hauling it in.  “We’ll make it work.”

Louis nods, smiling when Zayn pokes a finger at his cheek, giggling when Zayn nudges his head against Louis’.

“Where’s the little blonde leprechaun?”

Zayn smirks, resting his forehead along Louis’ stiff brown hair.  He always uses way too much product, not that Zayn should talk because he was the one with the gelled up quiff and he’s probably guilty of using more than half of Louis’ stupid hair stuff anyways.

“Summer courses at Uni,” Zayn says, lifting his hips up to pull his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.  He taps the end of the box, flipping open the lid to pull one out.

Louis makes a face, lips wrinkling.  “Who takes summer courses?  That kid needs a life.”

Zayn nods slowly, slipping the end of his cigarette between his lips, Louis snatching it out just as quick.

“Not in the flat,” Louis hisses, tossing the cigarette onto the coffee table.

Zayn considers strangling Louis but it’s not really a viable option, especially with his door wide open for anyone to witness as they strolled by.  He merely drags his fingers through Louis’ hair roughly, wincing when Louis pinches his thigh and he’s slipping a cigarette behind his ear for later, slouching back on the couch while he and Louis glare at that plant like they hate it and could possibly burn it.

It’s probably the best idea Louis has ever suggested.

**

Harry does come by later and, thankfully, Louis had run to the store to grab two bottles of wine – red and white because, obviously, Louis wants to impress Harry… or get him pleasantly drunk – but there’s no food so, after a stumbling lie on Louis’ part, they order pizza.  Zayn thinks to ask Harry several times where Liam is but he isn’t desperate like that.  Not that he doesn’t watch the door more than a few times in hopes someone will knock at it, someone with a shaved head, big bright brown eyes with soft cheeks, a nice build, and, yeah, Zayn’s not okay with imaging Liam at his door.  Or in his bed, with swollen lips from kissing Zayn.

Fuck, who _is_ this Liam?

Harry talks a lot, like Louis except much slower with that deep dragging voice that sort of annoys Zayn but Louis looks positively entranced by it, hanging off of Harry’s every word while snuggled up to Zayn on the couch, Harry on the floor because, for some reason, he likes sitting there.  Louis thinks it’s adorable, or so he tells Zayn later on when Harry stumbles to the loo for a pee, but Zayn thinks it’s stupid.  Harry’s a bit of a hipster, Zayn can tell, and nothing like the guys Louis’ dated before.  Well, if Louis _dated_ , but he more so takes a guy out, finds a way to fuck him by the second date, and lets whatever-his-name-is linger around just enough to get annoyed before never returning his calls.

Did Zayn mention Louis is a bit of an ass, because he really _is_.  A loveable one, but still an ass.

Harry tells them about his life back home, in Holmes Chapel, and how he hated attending private school but his mum wanted him to stay out of trouble after he managed to set his teacher’s desk on fire during Show and Tell when he was eight – something Harry willingly says wasn’t his fault.  Still, Harry managed to get in enough trouble back home that he nearly didn’t make it past Ninth Year and, when his mum remarried, she drug him here with his new stepdad whom Harry is actually quite fond of.

Louis’ grinning, Zayn yawning, when Harry goes on about his favorite music – Zayn grumbles when Louis pinches his arm at the mention of Katy Perry, along with Nirvana, My Chemical Romance, some Indie stuff Zayn’s never heard of – and his love for films.  Harry talks about a few girlfriends he’s had in secondary school, Louis frowning until Harry, after a few glasses of the white wine – Zayn doesn’t grin at Louis, but he sort of does – Harry talks about the first time he gave a friend – _not_ Liam, thankfully – a blowjob and how horrible he was at it.  Zayn winces at the way Louis’ eyes go a bit dark, a smile licked across his lips with blush smattering Harry’s cheeks as he chats about never really having a boyfriend though he’s been on more than enough dates with guys to make up for that.

Zayn leans in with interest when Harry recounts meeting Liam, a painfully quiet boy who was working at an old record shop his grandfather used to own – his uncle runs it now – helping Harry find all the best vintage stuff all the while chatting about comic books, rugby, and things Harry had no idea about but smiled along with because, “Shit, the guy was so _nice_.”  He was smaller then, Harry tells them, with a thick head of curls and Zayn chews on the corner of his mouth, wonders if he’d prefer to tangle his hands through that mop of hair or if he just wouldn’t prefer Liam tugging on Zayn’s own thick hair while fucking into Zayn from behind.

Zayn leans back when Harry goes on about Liam being the sensible one, the responsible one who keeps Harry grounded, though Zayn’s almost certain Harry can do that on his own.  Still, he listens, smiling softly because, yeah, he can imagine Liam being just as wonderful as Harry describes with aching cheeks, dimples flaring, and bright green eyes like Liam’s more than a best mate; he’s sort of Harry’s world.

Liam hadn’t said much in the hall earlier but there was something about him that made Zayn sense a goodness he doesn’t usually see in strangers.  Not that Zayn looks for those kinds of things, but he couldn’t help but feel warm about Liam.  It was terrible and distracting and made Zayn itch for something else.

“Need a smoke,” Zayn announces when Harry and Louis get lost in a conversation about something Zayn hasn’t really paid attention to.  He pushes up off the couch, sock-covered feet slipping a little on the hardwood with Louis leaning in to listen closely to Harry with lidded eyes and that _‘Yeah, I’m sort of sloshed’_ look to his face.  Zayn thinks, just for a second, it might not be a good idea to leave the two alone in his flat but Harry smiles up at him innocently and just maybe he won’t return to them fucking all over his hardwood floors.  That would be quite disturbing, if not predictable from Louis.

“Enjoy,” Louis calls out as Zayn snatches his pack up from the kitchen counter, waving three fingers at Zayn like he’s some sort of angel.  He could probably give Satan a run for his money.

“You too,” Zayn bellows back over his shoulder, quirked up grin as Louis nearly tips his glass of wine over, Harry falling back with a laugh.

Zayn shakes his head, slipping a fag between his lips while dragging a hand through his thick hair.  He eyes that damn plant, the one that barely made it past the threshold and is now parked itself just near the door, looking pathetic and hunched over.  He’s definitely going to set in on fire when Louis leaves, blame it on some sort of freak accident, or maybe Niall.  His grin tips higher at that, kicking the door shut as Louis’ incessant giggles get a little too feminine.  He honestly feels for Harry, he does.

It’s late July and the air is thick with the summer heat.  It’s hot enough that he pushes up the sleeves of his t-shirt, head tilting back to exhale a thick load of smoke.  The stars aren’t as bright as usual, something he chews his bottom lip to.  The sky is brushed thick in that purple hue, painting away the lights that sometimes shimmer in the sky when he looks on it.  He combs his fingers through the top of his hair, pulls at it until they untangle from the mess, grinning.

Perrie always complained because he wouldn’t let her touch his hair.  He didn’t let _anyone_ touch it, not even that one guy he dated for two weeks who was rather decent in bed, but when he wanted to grab Zayn’s hair while Zayn went down on him, things sort of went to shit from there.  He smirks around the butt of the cigarette, deep drag of it as he pictures the way Perrie would always complain about his smoking, the fact that he always left his leather jacket at her house, fearful her parents would find out he’d been sneaking in her room way past midnight during a school week.  His fingers dig into his palm when he remembers sneaking into that room a lot less, being open with her in public, the whispers from their classmates whenever they were around, ending things with her when he wasn’t certain when they had begun.  He holds the smoke in a little too long then, burning his lungs, coughing a little on the exhale.  It wasn’t all his choice, then again, none of it ever was.  And his mistakes, no, his _choices_ – because it definitely wasn’t a mistake – seem to linger on his mind.  Some of it was a mistake, but the most important aspect wasn’t.

He drags his hand down his face, shoulders tensing as he flicks away the ash from the cigarette.  He remembers his mum’s face, the way it paled, ghosts moving against her skin when he told her.  He hauls in a deep breath before taking another pull, feels the sting at the corners of his eyes.  He expected it all from his baba – the reaction, the silence, the way his eyes narrowed before his eyes didn’t fall on Zayn for nearly three weeks.  But his mum?  That gutted him.  It left him shivering, curled up in his bed for two days until Doniya nearly kicked down the door, shouted at him, before scooping him into a hug, letting him cry into her shoulder.  His fingers shake, barely holding onto that cigarette as he sniffs at the air, pulls back in that stinging scent of nicotine before inhaling another drag of smoke.

He tips his head back once more, blowing the smoke out through his nose.  He needs to get out, go somewhere, get a drink or fuck someone.  He scuffs his trainers on the sidewalk, pulls out his pocketed phone.  He feels a hot tear slicing down his cheek, wipes it away quickly because, yeah, he doesn’t cry.  Not as much as he did a year ago.  He scrubs at his cheek, another inhale of smoke, scrolls through his contacts.

He could call Anthony, maybe Danny, meet them at a pub at the edge of town or, fuck it, drive to the city and get completely smashed with some of their friends.  Zayn doesn’t like any of them, honestly, but it’d be just enough to drag his mind off of these constricting thoughts.  He swallows, thumbs past Anthony’s name because, no, he has to work in the morning and the last time he went out with them, Zayn didn’t make it home for three days and it wouldn’t have been so bad had he not had to endure the tsunami that was Louis Tomlinson.  The words Louis spat were more hurtful than the slaps, the halfhearted punches, the way Louis glared at him for an hour before his jaw went slack and all he could offer Zayn was a disappointed frown.

He could maybe call up El, meet her for some coffee.  She was always good to talk to.  She was a great listener, sympathetic without even trying.  He chews on his bottom lip, tries not to remember the way her face wrinkled with hurt when Louis finally ended things, the way she didn’t mean to but she clung to Zayn, kissed him hard on the lips just to ensure herself she was indeed pretty and worthy of a man.  Zayn smirks, remembers politely pushing her away, rubbing at her cheek, catching her tears before they slid across those trembling lips.  She’d spent the rest of their friendship trying to make up for that night and, Zayn thinks, she’d done that long ago, whether she knew it or not.

Zayn tilts his head to the side, cracks his neck before taking a final pull of his fag, flicking it from his fingers and he doesn’t bother stomping it out.  He’d unintentionally smoked it all the way down to the filter, sighing heavily.  He can feel the blaze along his lungs when he inhales, hand grabbing at his chest, eyes slipping shut.  He lets the warm air stick to his skin, everything else way too cold as he drags his thumb over Perrie’s name.

He could.  He really could.  He could call her, catch a cab across town to her flat, push through the door and hope she didn’t have company, not that he cared.  He could press his lips to her before she could ask any questions, do things to her that he hasn’t in a while, not that he’s _wanted_ to.  No, that part of their relationship had long died and he had no intentions of getting it back, nor did she.

He bites a little too hard on his lip, winching.  He sighs through his teeth – _Life’s too short to even care at all._   His fingers ball into fists, gripping his phone tightly.  He could just sit on her fluffy couch, the one he’s laid his head more than a few occasions after one too many beers at the pub with Louis and Niall.  She’d stroke his face for a little while, offering silly jokes that he never laughed intentionally at.  He always smiled at them, though, because at least she was trying.

He wonders if he’d let her see his tears.  He never did before, not but that one time and he couldn’t help it that time.  He blinks his eyes open, tries not to dwell on that.  He coughs roughly, fingers swiping over his phone – _I’m losing my mind, losing my mind, losing control_ – exhales a deep breath when looking at the pictures of his lips pressed to her cheek, purple hair bright with one of those fake grins she wore so well.  He shakes his head, doesn’t miss the way she’d fuss at him, pull on his hand until it rested against her, drifting down to her stomach.  He scratches at the back of his head, winces when he hears her words, always so hurtful because she could.  She could hurt him with her words and she knew it too well.

He clicks off of the pictures, eyes crinkling and lips twitching when he looks at the wallpaper on his phone.  He swipes his finger over it, moves all of the icons until he can look at the picture.  His heart races a little, teeth chewing the inside of his mouth.  His world tilts a little sideways, off of its axis – _Restore life the way it should be. I’m waiting for this cough syrup to come down_.  He pockets his phone, another deep inhale of that thick air, his smoke still lingering and he slides his tongue along his lips, tastes the salt from his abandoned tears.  He wipes the sweat from his palms along his jeans, drags the toe of his shoe along the sidewalk.

He glances up to the building, wonders if he can see through that window from Harry and Liam’s flat.  He wonders if Liam picked that room, the one that faces the street, that has a pretty amazing view on the sunrise in the morning and Zayn only knows that because Niall has the same room in their flat.  He wonders if those newly hung, thin white curtains hid enough of the dark skies that Liam wouldn’t catch Zayn looking up there.  He grins, the corners of his mouth twitching.  He wouldn’t mind waking up to the sun creeping through those curtains, warming the pieces of his skin that Liam wasn’t touching.

 _Fucking bullshit_ , he thinks, pushing the thoughts aside.  He shakes his head, still smiling, rubbing at the back of his neck like he’d seen Liam do earlier.  His nails scrape lightly along his skin, eyes batting closed again as he tilts his chin downward.  He doesn’t know if Liam would be so understanding about all of Zayn, the parts he still needed to learn to even know half of Zayn.  He groans, frustration building for a second but then he thinks about that picture still clinging to the background of his phone.

It was enough, he knew it.

Maybe he didn’t need to get away that bad.  Maybe he just needs a reminder of why he stayed so long in this fucking town, the one he always felt so suffocated by.  He just needs to know it’s all worth it.

**

Mornings are the worst.  There’s not a single person in the world that could tell him differently.  It’s something about abandoning sleep, you know that thing that’s as good as sex if you do it right, that feels unnatural to him.  The way half of the world is just so fucking happy, cheery because the sun is out and the world is starting over again that annoys him.  He hates the way the water in the shower runs cold too quickly and he can’t ever find a pair of socks that match because he leaves Niall in charge of the laundry every other week and that’s a catastrophe he has yet to understand.  Plus Niall is shit at making coffee, absolutely horrible at it, and that means Zayn’s never fully awake when he stumbles downstairs, waits outside for nearly thirty minutes on Louis, who’s kind enough to pick Zayn up on the days he has an early shift at the restaurant, just to get a sip of hot coffee from the shop two blocks away.

It’s more like torture for Zayn when he’s in Louis’ expensive car, the one his parents got him for finally passing that damn Literature class, because Louis blares the music too loudly and it’s all Carly Rae Jepsen and fucking Taylor Swift as Louis sings along loudly like he’s a thirteen year old girl instead of a twenty-one year old man.  And Zayn’s more than certain he hates that blue-eyed, blonde girl as much as he hates Louis when Louis drums his fingers on the steering wheel, mouthing along – _Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met. But loving him was red._

But Louis is late today, well, _later_ than usual.

He doesn’t have the energy to bother giving Louis a ring because he hasn’t had his coffee and he woke up with the most painful morning wood he’s had in a while – and he sort of blames Liam for that because, _fuck_ , he’d definitely been dreaming about that fit little bastard for some reason – which he couldn’t bother to take care of because the water in the shower ran cold just before he could soap up his bobbing erection.  He’s in a shit mood and mornings, Louis, and bad moods were never a good combination.  He remembers that from a particularly dreadful and cold morning in December, to which he still has a scar under his elbow from and Zayn’s not quite sure Louis’ hair has ever grown back properly in that particular spot of his head.

The air in the town is already starting to swelter with heat and Zayn glances at his phone while sparking up a fag – it’s only 9:02 AM, which means today is going to be incredibly hot by the lunch rush just before noon.  He groans audibly, taking a small drag of his cigarette before flicking the end to kick off the ash.  He thinks about heading back upstairs, dragging Niall out of his bed – or where he’s knocked out on the couch with a book on his face, depending on the day – to have a cup of tea because, really, how can you fuck up _tea?_   Well, you can, but Zayn doesn’t imagine Niall would struggle with boiling the water and dropping the tea bag in the cup.

He thinks it happens sort of like slow motion, the moment his eyes lift and catch the blur of a body jogging toward him in the heat.  His eyes flicker wider, lips curling tightly around his cigarette, fingers dragging along the collar of his button-down.  He inhales deeply, pulling in the smoke.  He lets the end of the fag dangle between his lips, trying to swallow but it feels impossible.  There’s sweat along the back of his neck and he wants to blame it on the heat but he can’t.  He knows he can’t.  His mouth is dry, his fingers itch, and, yeah, it’s definitely _not_ the heat.

The sun glows behind him, reflecting off the glass from the nearby buildings but, then again, his mum always told him angels existed somewhere in this world.  He thinks to drag his fingers through his hair, doesn’t in fear of musing his quiff, when he catches a good glimpse of Liam.  There’s a thin layer of sweat across his forehead, his jumper sticking to his skin, Zayn’s own breath hitching at the way Liam’s breath is a little labored as he jogs closer.  He can hear the way Liam’s trainers scratch against the surface of the streets, arms moving in perfect tune with his legs.  There’s something about the way the sun has kissed that skin, leaving it the softest shade of tan Zayn thinks he’s ever seen.

Zayn thinks it’s a bit unfair, the way the world blessed this one person with those cheeks, those soft eyes, lips that have Zayn licking at his own with wonder because he imagines they’re much softer than Zayn’s, probably taste sweeter than any fruit Zayn’s had the pleasure of sampling.  And Liam, he stops a few feet away, hands resting on his knees as he doubles over, tries to catch his breath.  Zayn’s fingers tingle, the temptation to run them over the back of Liam’s head just to feel that buzzed head.

He takes another long drag of his cigarette, eyes dropping away before Liam stretches, catching from the corner of his eye the way Liam’s jumper lifts and exposes a nice stretch of skin.  He takes in another sharp, quiet breath, this one pure oxygen that doesn’t do enough to rid the burn along Zayn’s chest.  He rubs at his nose, eyeing passing cars rather than Liam.  He swallows, wonders if Liam takes a peak at him when he unbuttons his sleeves, rolls them up to his elbows and exposes the artwork inked into his forearm.

Liam hums softly, head nodding to whatever he’s listening to on his iPod and Zayn snorts lowly, dragging his foot along the sidewalk as Liam wipes at the sweat along his neck, still doesn’t acknowledge Zayn though they’re breaths away now.  Zayn shakes his head, _the nerve of this kid_ , he thinks with a smirk, pushing billowing smoke out of the side of his mouth as Liam rubs at the back of his head.  The sun shifts again, stroking Liam’s face in a tender amber hue that highlights his eyes, his cheeks, the slope of his nose.  He looks away but he can still hear Liam’s heavy breathing, the soft wheezing from the drag that run has had on his lungs.  He can feel Liam’s heat, he’s certain, another bead of sweat trickling down the small of Zayn’s back.

Zayn pulls at his collar again and he needs Louis here, _now_.  He needs away from this bloke who won’t even bother to give Zayn a look, let alone speak a few words.  And all of it made Zayn’s heart ache and his desire to fuck this fit lad up against a wall that more enticing.

He exhales a deep breath, flicking his cigarette away when he spots Liam moving toward the door of their building, head hung a little low.  He chews at his bottom lip, tries not to turn and watch Liam walk away because he might feel the pull inside of himself to follow, get a little closer, listen to that tender voice until it stroked all of Zayn’s insides.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

Zayn’s head perks up, brow knitting together as he glances over his shoulder, spots Liam looking at him.  There’s a firmness in that face and Zayn has to narrow his eyes, a deceptive lift to his chin.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Liam repeats, offers a small shrug that has Zayn’s own shoulders tensing.  “It’s not good for you.”

“No shit,” Zayn snorts, jerking his head back in the other direction.  “Guess I should’ve paid more attention in health class, yeah?”

“I’m just saying – “

“You’re saying a bunch of shit I don’t care to hear,” Zayn snaps, jaw tensing and he refuses to look at Liam.  He doesn’t want to know if his words hurt or wound him, can’t afford to see if that face crumples or if that body shrinks a little.

“I’m sorry.”

Zayn sucks in a tight breath, eyes shutting and, _shit_ , that wasn’t supposed to trouble him as much as it did.  His fingers have clenched into fists.  His shoulders roll, neck cracking and he’s regretfully spinning on his heels, needing to offer his own apology.  He thinks he’ll look pretty daft doing it to a closing door because Liam’s no longer there, tucked away in the building somewhere.

“Fuck,” Zayn groans, dropping his head.

He hears the familiar thud of Carly Rae Jepsen blaring through open windows – _And from the very first time I saw your face, I knew I was satisfied_ – and Zayn sighs when he hears Louis’ voice singing horribly off-key along to the words.  He thinks about lighting another cigarette, not giving a shit if he’s late or not because that hollowness in Liam’s voice is dragging a little too roughly against his mind right now.  He jerks the door open, slouching down into the passenger side of Louis’ car before yanking the door closed, head dropping back with his eyes on the roof of the car.

“And a good morning to you too sunshine,” Louis sings out, holding up a steaming cup of black coffee for Zayn.  He raises an eyebrow at Zayn, giving him a once over and Zayn feels the scrutiny without even looking.

He tries not to smile when he sees the coffee, glaring at Louis for a beat until Louis offers him a small frown and puppy dog eyes that Louis only manages to make believable in instances like this one.  Zayn mumbles, snatches the cup away and sips at it, the heat stinging his tongue but he doesn’t care.

“Right then,” Louis huffs, leaning closer to Zayn.  He turns down the volume, the music still thudding against Zayn’s brain – _‘cause breaking us in two is breaking me in pieces_ – before Louis’ saying, “Do you want to have a chat about it.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?  Uncle Lou is here for you,” Louis teases, shaking Zayn’s shoulder.

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, be polite,” Louis warns him, pulling back.  Zayn rolls his eyes and Louis looks offended before his features soften.  “Are you sure Zayn?”

“Just drive,” Zayn grumbles, flicking the volume back up until it drowns out the sound of Louis’ voice.  It’s the first time in too long he’d rather hear the words of Carly Rae over the comforting madness of Louis Tomlinson.

He lowers his head, blows on the coffee to dull the heat a little as Louis peels off into the street in typical Louis fashion.  It’s all honking horns, shouts of profanity that Louis grins at, speeding down the street, nearly hitting two cars, and Zayn lets his eyes shift shut, choking on his coffee just to blur the lines between what he wants and what he knows he just can’t have.

**

He’s not even sure why he’s here.  Wait, he knows _why_ he’s here, he’s just not certain why he even bothered to agree to this daft idea.  Or maybe he does because, honestly, Louis and those damn oceanic blue eyes were sometimes incredibly hard to turn down.  He smirks at that – Louis and his stupid ideas.

He doesn’t venture to the city often, on occasion, and he definitely doesn’t come to visit places like Oceans and Tides, but Louis begged him and, fuck, he couldn’t come up with a lie quick enough to deny Louis.  Not that he minded the club, the flickering lights, the way the music drenched the room, the cheap drinks, and the sea of bodies on top of bodies may not have been appealing but the atmosphere made up for it.  He prefers something more intimate like a pub, maybe a quiet restaurant to gather with friends, not that he had enough to really need moments like that, and there was something about the way he felt more than a dozen eyes on him every time he moved that made him more than uncomfortable.

He knows why Louis’ here – “Harry said his favorite place to go on Thursday nights is Oceans and Tides because he doesn’t have class on Friday mornings.” – and Zayn couldn’t help but grin when he teased Louis about having a ‘ _crush’_ because Louis’ Tomlinson doesn’t do things like that.  He doesn’t get attached, not in the slightest and if Zayn could name all of the men, and women, Louis’ been infatuated with in the past year on one hand he’d be lucky.  But he settles on sipping on a cranberry and vodka in one of those cheap clear plastic cups, watching the gyrating bodies colliding together on the dance floor, the crowd of people caving in on the bar, the way Louis’ darting eyes keeping dancing over every person in search of that one Cherub-faced, green-eyed lad that Louis’ swears he’s not obsessing over.

“Fucking bullshit,” Louis huffs, leaning on the railing that looks over the club, lips pursing.  “He has to be here.”

Zayn snorts, head shaking as he watches a trio of girls dance on each other, hands moving in places that seem a little too friendly with giggles and blush streaking their cheeks.  He considers joining them for a moment before looking away, ice cubes cooling his lips as he drains the rest of his drink.  He fixes his eyes on a group of guys trying desperately to catch the attention of two blondes passing, failing miserably.  He grins at that, lips curling.

“This is quite pathetic, yeah?” Zayn asks, roughly nudging Louis’ shoulder roughly with his own.

“ _No_ ,” Louis hisses, eyes narrowing before he’s focusing on the dance floor again.

Zayn rolls his eyes, swirling the melting ice in his cup before sipping at it again, watered down vodka slipping over his tongue.

“He’s probably not even here.”

“He _is_ ,” Louis insists, eyes squinting as he watches a guy move through the crowd, shoulders almost like Harry with that hipster style but it’s not him.  Louis’ shoulders slump.

“What makes you think so, mate?” Zayn wonders, grinning down at a redhead who’s petite and has hips Zayn could definitely dig his fingers into.  He shifts his weight a little, licks at his lips, wonders if she tastes like strawberry chapstick and wears way too much perfume.

“I watched him leave when I came to pick you up,” Louis says mildly with a shrug like it’s just the most natural thing he’s ever said.

Zayn gapes at him, nearly drops his cup.  “You didn’t.”

“Maybe.”  Louis smiles in that way that makes Zayn’s stomach drop.

“You’re mental,” Zayn declares, leaning back when he sees a fit guy with wide shoulders, shaggy black hair and the kind of blue eyes that are like ice until he smiles.  Zayn adjusts himself, tries not to think about those supple pink lips wrapped around the head of his cock later.

He’s here for Louis, not a one off, though he could.  It’d been way too long since he’d been laid and, honestly, who would blame him for a quick fuck with a stranger he wouldn’t have to call anymore?  Because that was the rules of any club – If you meet someone, hook up, there’s an underlying rule that that’s it.  No calls the next day, no promises of falling in love.  Sweaty, dirty, forgettable sex.  And who was Zayn not to abide by those rules?

Zayn nibbles on his bottom lip when the DJ shifts the music, a squeal of voices ringing out before hands clap and girls flood the small space they call a dance floor.  There’s a bounce to their beat, heels stomping the floor and Zayn chuckles lowly, eyeing the way some dance right against each other, hips against ass, hands sliding down their backs.  He catches Louis making a face but he ignores it because the vodka is shifting nicely through his body, the electricity of the music slinking against his skin – _I come alive when the sun goes down. The city noise makes a beautiful sound._

“There he is!”

Zayn leans on the railing once more, peering over the edge before he spots a familiar set of curls, Harry grinning from near the bar where one of those pretty blondes dances on him with her pink nails dragging down the front of his blazer.  There’s a fevered blush against those dimpled cheeks, green eyes going a little wide when she swivels her hips to the left, the lights smacking off of the sheen of her lip gloss – _So put your hands up. You know you can’t stop_.  He’s dragging those long fingers through his sweat-soaked curls, laughing nervously before taking a swig of his beer, nodding to his right and Zayn’s breath hitches a little.

Liam’s leaning up against an empty table, stirring his straw around in one of those plastic cups.  His white t-shirt is pulling just right around the shoulders, his chinos a little sagged, and the bluish lights shine off of his skin, slipping over almond eyes that crinkle a little when Harry makes a face at the way the girl swivels her hips off beat.  Zayn can feel his heart thudding with the bass of the music – _Just put your hands up ‘cause we can’t get enough_ – swallowing thickly as he roams his eyes over Liam’s hair, that birthmark on his neck, the way his cheeks push up high when he smiles.  And Liam’s moving a little side to side, head tipping back with laughter as he moves like lighter fluid to the beat, the thrum of the music setting him on fire.

“Oh fucking hell,” Louis groans, leaning a little further than Zayn’s comfortable with over the rail.  “I’m getting down there and getting that boy.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Zayn asks, voice raising to be heard over the music and the loud singing echoing through the club.

Louis gives him a look, eyebrow lifted.  Zayn quickly raises his hands defensively, nipping at his lip as Louis smirks.

“I am the Tommo, remember?” Louis offers, hands on his hips.

Zayn groans lowly, dropping his cup onto an empty table.

“I’m not picking up the pieces when he turns you down,” Zayn insists, slipping by a few stumbling patrons with hazy eyes and the stench of one too many shots of whiskey.

Louis slaps at the back of his shoulders, thick pout on his lips.

“I’m the Tommo and – “

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn says, ignoring him while waving a hand in the air as he nudges through another passing crowd to make it down the steps.  He grins at that redhead as she passes, watches the way she bites at her bottom lip with blush freckling her cheeks.  It’s too easy, he thinks, shaking his head and ducking through a few more people to get to a corner close to Harry and Liam.

“You’re insufferable,” Louis hisses, shouldering past Zayn and Zayn’s smirking as Louis orders a drink from the bar before nudging that pretty blonde out of the way, completely ignoring her when she hurls enough fuck’s at him to make even Zayn blush.

Zayn settles against the wall, head nodding along to the bass – _So put the needle of the record. The world is looking better_.  He needs a smoke, something to drag this feeling out of his lungs when his eyes shift onto Liam who’s watching Louis with his mouth gaping, Zayn snickering because Louis is fearless.  He’s got a hand on Harry’s shoulder, flirting heavily, leaning up to whisper in Harry’s ear until Harry’s ducking his head, cheeks even redder than what they were before.  Zayn drags his teeth along his bottom lip to stop from laughing, the way Liam’s nose scrunches and his eyes go a little wide with astonishment, leaves a nice tingle along Zayn’s stomach until he forces himself to look away.

Zayn sidles up to the bar after a few songs, bored with the landscape just that easily.  He takes a shot of some cheap vodka, lets a duo of girls buy him a few shots of tequila and he smiles their way, a quick wink with honey-gold eyes leaving them giggling and pushing up their breasts to garner more of his attention.  He tips his head back with laughter, ordering a beer before nodding at them, turning away as quick when he drops a few quid on the bar.  He sips on his beer, letting the buzz of the alcohol slip into his system with hooded eyes.

He takes a quick glance over his shoulder – _When you walk my way, I feel the rush come over me. A sharp panic_ – sighs lowly when he sees Harry’s arm slung around Louis’ shoulder, Louis’ hand pressed to Harry’s chest and there’s something dizzy about the way they look at each other.  He tucks his bottom lip behind his teeth, skates his eyes over Liam who looks just as disinterested by everything.  There’s something far off about those brown eyes, something pushing at Zayn’s chest.  He takes a slow swallow of his beer, watches Liam playing with the top of his water bottle, taking a quick sip before bobbing his head along to the music.

He knows he shouldn’t, can’t even bother but something’s stabbing at his head like pricks of a needle.  The lights dance yellows and greens over Liam, Zayn grinning when Liam bites at his thumbnail, turns down a dance from a pretty brunette with thick curls.  Zayn drags his hand along his neck, pops open a few buttons on his plaid button-down, tongue wetting his lips – _All day, all night, I’ve got the lights in my eyes and I’m falling for you._   He takes in a deep breath, sweat sticking to his skin and it’s the alcohol, not the heat of the club.

No, it’s the way Liam looks so gentle, so carefree in this animalistic environment.  So timid, so unwilling to fall for any of this bullshit.

He looks… _incredible_.

Zayn takes another haul of his beer, tries to shake off that awe-stricken feeling.  He watches Louis for a beat, the way he tries so hard and Harry’s merely nodding like he cares but Zayn knows he doesn’t.  It’s the way the light glints off his eyes – he knows the rules and he’s hoping Louis does too.  Zayn swallows, lets the burn sink deep down.  Louis can handle this, he can.  He can be just that uneven about things too.

Zayn smirks when Liam bobs his shoulders along, smiling at the way the crowd shifts seductively to the guitars, the way the music stutters along their ears.  He sort of likes the way Liam’s eyes crinkle, the way he sucks at his bottom lip, wonders if Liam could do the same with Zayn’s bottom lip.  He feels that twitch right along his belly, that warmth seeping down through his trousers, the push of his cock against the tight fabric of his jersey-boxers.

He wets his throat with another swallow of that no longer cold beer – _Keep cool, stay young. I’m just having my fun with the lessons of love_ – eyes the way blush feathers along Liam’s cheeks when a beautiful woman with glitter on her skin, doe-like eyes and red lips runs a hand along his chest, tries to pull him to the floor.  Zayn’s fingers curl tightly around the neck of his beer bottle, upper lip curling.  He feels a tightening in his chest, wants to shove her off when she refuses to give in, dragging her cheap nails down along Liam’s stomach until he’s stumbling backward, head shaking.  His eyes narrow and that’s not jealousy, right?  Because Liam doesn’t _belong_ to him, not in the slightest.

He wishes he could tell that to the burn right on the edge of his heart.

Zayn can’t help the way a grin tickles his lips the moment the DJ switches melodies, eyes lighting up like the first twinkling Christmas decorations across the town in late November.  His tongue swipes along his bottom lip slowly, easing his beer bottle onto the bar before pushing away, ignoring the eyes he gets from a few set of women.  There’s an itch right along his stomach, a fire like that first spark of a fag midday, his grin tilting even higher when he spots Liam bobbing along with a playful smile to the melody overtaking the club.  There’s a few hoots, a familiar catcalls for the intro, the way the music pulses like the blood pumping through Zayn’s veins.  He carefully pulls fingers over his quiff, the one that’s not fully styled but it’s fluffed up enough that Zayn owns that cool that comes with it.

He pulls away from a girl tugging at the hem of his shirt, shrugging off another because he doesn’t have eyes for them; any of them.  He blinks at the way the strobe lights dance off of his eyes, tongue licking out again to wet his upper lip as he curves around the corner of the bar, eyebrow arching at the way Liam’s back is to him, shoulders bouncing, a little dip in his knees when the bass kicks in.  He grins, the chase a little exhilarating, flicks another button open on his plaid shirt before he swallows a thick lump in his throat.  He takes in a breath, wishes he was inhaling the smoke from a cigarette to calm his nerves but the way that tequila is tipping against his senses – none it even matters anymore.

He doesn’t usually do this – _Don’t be so quick to walk away. Dance with me. I wanna rock your body, please stay. Dance with me._ He hates dancing in public as much as he hates mornings, hangovers, cold tea, the way Louis is just a little too happy when he gets what he wants.  He’s throwing all of that away, eyes lidded, nerves fried.  He’s run out of fucks to give suddenly, easing up slowly to find the rhythm before he’s throwing all of his fear into the wind, taking just two small steps before he’s up against Liam, moving with him.

Liam’s more than a little startled – _See I’ve been watching you. I like the way you move_ – trying to spin around but Zayn shakes his head with a curled up smirk, hands fastened on Liam’s hips and preventing him from turning fully.  His fingers dig into the shape of Liam’s hipbones, edging his body up closer to Liam’s until the warmth from Liam’s body has his world slipping a little to the left.  He watches the way Liam glances over his shoulder with wide eyes for a moment before they’re narrowing, lips set into a straight line.  Zayn ignores it, bobs with the beat and he bites at a grin when Liam continues to move along with him to the beat.

“What’re you – “

“Just relax,” Zayn whispers, gets close enough that his lips slide along the lobe of Liam’s ear.  “And dance with me.”

Liam’s gapes at him, Zayn watching the way Liam looks ready to say something, probably deck Zayn but then Zayn’s fingers drum the melody along Liam’s hip, he rests his chin on Liam’s broad shoulder, bottom lip tucking behind teeth and there’s just the slightest roll of his hip as Liam eases back, settling into the groove.  Zayn smiles, soft and unintentional, and Liam’s fighting it for a few steps – _You don’t have to admit you wanna play_ – before something glazes over those chocolate eyes and he thinks he sees reality slip in before Liam’s cheeks are lifting, smile blossoming, and he’s turning his head back, moving with Zayn now.

Zayn’s hands dance along Liam’s stomach, pushing up to his chest before Liam covers one of them, fingers slipping between the spaces in between Zayn’s fingers.  Zayn feels that spark like electricity, the way everything inside of his stomach coils and he’s nuzzling his nose to Liam’s neck, sharp inhale breathing in sharp cologne, spiced cinnamon, just a slight hint of something citrus that has Zayn shifting his eyes shut and pulling Liam a little closer.  And Liam’s reaching back, fingers stroking the side of Zayn’s head, slipping up until they feather into his quiff and Zayn’s doesn’t mind it one bit.

There’s a heat flushing his cheeks, the way Liam knows how to move to the beat.  He’s a natural, unlike Zayn who feels forced and uncoordinated but Liam grins at him over his shoulder, makes him feel like he’s doing everything perfectly.  They sway with the pop of the music, ignoring everyone around them and Zayn wonders for a second where Louis and Harry have drifted off to until Liam rocks his hips back, hand reaching back to grip Zayn’s waist and keep him dangerously close to Liam’s body.

A gasp passing through his lips, he thinks he hears a moan slip from Liam’s and, _fuck_ , he’s hard and trying not to let Liam feel it.  But then Liam rolls his hips just a little, bites down on his bottom lip when he does feel Zayn’s erection, eyes slowly slipping shut before he’s biting at his thumbnail – _an angel bathing in sin_ , Zayn thinks.  He smirks, drags his nails over Liam’s chest, plucks at a nipple until he feels it harden through Liam’s shirt, his other hand shifting down over Liam’s trousers.  His fingers tingle, the thought of reaching a little lower to see if Liam’s hard too dragging on his brain – _So what did you come for?_

“You’re good,” Liam heaves out, shuddering a little when Zayn brushes his lips over Liam’s neck, ghosting over his skin.  “You’re real, uh, _good_.  At dancing, you know.  At, uh, _this_.”

“Really?” Zayn wonders, perked up grin as Liam eases his fingers into Zayn’s hair, a soft tug when Zayn’s thumb pushes up the hem of his shirt, Zayn smirking manically.

“Yes.”

“More?” Zayn asks, his own voice getting away from him and it’s nothing but pants after that.

“Yes,” Liam moans softly, eyes still shut.

Zayn drags a kiss along Liam’s neck, teeth raking lightly until Liam’s shivering, pushing his ass back against Zayn’s crotch.  Zayn’s stiffens a little, the heat too much, tries not to push back but he can’t help himself.  He grinds up against Liam, doesn’t restrain himself for a moment, and Liam’s smirking, his back arching like he’s giving himself away for a moment.

“I can’t wait to have you in my arms,” Zayn sings along, mouth pressed to Liam’s ear, panting against the lobe when Liam’s lips curl to release a silent whimper.

Liam nods, laughing a little breathlessly before tangling his fingers with Zayn’s.

Zayn slips his free hand to Liam’s shirt, pulling at it before dragging it up a little, fingers tickling over Liam’s abdomen, right along that thick trail of hair as he pushes his hips further into Liam’s ass with a smirk.

His thin fingers play along the waistband of Liam’s boxers, lips gentling against Liam’s ear before he’s whispering, “Bet I have you naked by the end of this song.”

Liam swallows thickly, glancing over his shoulder with glossed over eyes, his lips parted and they look raw and chapped from Liam chewing just a little too hard on them.  His breathes come out in little pants, chest rising and falling swiftly.  His pupils are blown wide, slowing the way he rocks his hips against Zayn.

Zayn watches intently, chewing on the edge of his lips until Liam’s eyes flicker down, watch the way Zayn’s tongue pushes over that pink flesh.  His eyes go a bit dark, mouth still gaped with his brow furrowed like he’s thinking about it, like he’s considering it and hesitating.  Zayn feels the knock against his chest, the way Liam’s shying away a bit before he’s nodding.

“You want to – “

Liam nods again, a little more firm this time before Zayn can finish.  “Yours.”

“Mine,” Zayn repeats slowly, trying to follow along.

Liam sighs lowly, pulling out of Zayn’s arms to turn around, hesitation gripping him again before he’s whispering, “Yours, Zayn.  Take me to yours.”

His eyes get a little wide, mouth slipping open just a little bit but then he catches the way it drags up that shyness in Liam again.  He reaches up, digs his fingers into Liam’s shirt, dragging him that short distance until he’s against Zayn again, flushed with blush pinking his cheeks.  Zayn grins a bit sideways, head tilting a little.  He watches the way Liam licks at his lips, anticipates something Zayn could give him but why now?  Why not wait?

Zayn inclines forward, lips ghosting over Liam’s, never pressing, never giving into what Liam wants though he feels Liam whimper and lean forward.  Zayn pulls back with a smirk, nips at the edge of Liam’s nose before snorting, his other hand snaking behind Liam’s back, dragging down until his fingers run over the small curve of Liam’s ass.  His fingers grip Liam’s shirt a little tighter, set in the wrinkles and there’s a plea in Liam’s eyes he suffers through just to drag his crotch along Liam’s, crushing their erections together in the sweetest turn of ecstasy.

“I want you,” Zayn pants out, inching forward again to press a kiss to the corner of Liam’s mouth.  “I want everything about you.”

“Fuck.”

“And you’re so hard.”

“Want you too,” Liam stutters out, the tide smacking the shore.

“Do you?”

“You can’t tell?” Liam snickers, rutting his hips to Zayn’s until Zayn pushes out a stinging hiss.  “And I don’t… I don’t do things like that.”

Zayn catches the way Liam’s voice drops, the guilt seeping in his tone and his own heart pulses a little faster at that.  His lips kiss gently at Liam’s cheek like some blanket of comfort, fingers finally releasing Liam’s shirt to drag over the material until his palm presses over Liam’s chest, feels the thud of Liam’s heart.

“I don’t have to… I mean, _we_ don’t have to – “

“Take me back to yours,” Liam insists, rubbing his cheek along Zayn’s, giggling at the prickle of Zayn’s scruff against his soft skin.  “I want to fuck.  I don’t care who does who, but shit, Zayn, I want you.”

Zayn snickers, nods without even looking in Liam’s eyes.  He feels Liam’s fingers tentatively reach lower, inches up on his tiptoes when Liam gives him a rough squeeze through his chinos, the soft whine of Liam’s voice along his ear all he needs.

He drags Liam’s hand away, twines their fingers before yanking his phone from his pocket.  He sends Louis a quick text – _Have the curly giant take you home :D x_ – before he’s pulling on Liam, ignoring the looks he gets from more than a few of the club patrons as they weave and slip through the throbbing crowd.  He pulls Liam closer until Liam’s pressed to his back as they push to get out, Liam’s chin on his shoulder, laughing like its seconds before the New Year.  And Zayn’s smiling too, his high far from coming down even when they escape into the night’s air, the soft mist of light falling rain leaves their skin wet.

They dance through the streets, the rain not pelting but its slick and shiny against their skin.  Zayn nibbles on his bottom lip, never letting Liam’s hand go as he drags him to a nearby lamppost.  There’s a seriousness in Liam’s eyes, a wide smile spread across his lips and it’s fucking frustrating the way Liam’s sunk so deep beneath his skin with just the way he looks that he hasn’t been able to imagine anyone else when he closes his eyes.

Liam’s wiping the mist from his cheeks, thumb pushing up until it pulls Zayn’s stuck together lashes apart, grinning at the way Zayn’s hair shines even brighter with the damp rain and the silver light from above shining down on them.  And, yeah, it’s enough right there.  Zayn’s pushing Liam up against the pole, fastening his lips to Liam’s with Liam’s eyes wide and Zayn’s eyes shut.  But there’s a soft moan from Liam, fingers digging into Zayn’s loose button-down, kissing back after a beat.

Zayn licks at Liam’s lips, waits until Liam parts them before slipping inside with his tongue.  He tastes the one drink Liam’s probably had, something sharp and fruity, before tasting something like caramel and dark chocolate on Liam’s tongue, along the roof of his mouth.  He’s got a hand on Liam’s cheek, fingers splayed as his thumb rubs gently and he’s trying not to let it slip off but the water is slicking Liam’s skin.  He grins at that, smiles through a few gentler kisses that he leads because Liam’s all tongue and desperate lips now.

“You’re going to have me fucked before we even get to yours,” Liam pants against Zayn’s lips when Zayn pulls back.

Zayn snorts, still stroking Liam’s face.  “That might be the plan.”

Liam rolls his eyes with a grin, pushing up the falling pieces of Zayn’s hair from his forehead.  He eases forward, bites at Zayn’s bottom lip, gentle tug with a grin until Zayn’s groaning, pushing his hips against Liam’s.  And Zayn can still feel it, that throbbing cock in Liam’s pants that feels long and mouthwatering.

“Get us a cab,” Liam says, no, _begs_ while dragging thick fingers through Zayn’s hair until it’s all pushed back.

Zayn nods, lips sliding against wet skin until they meet Liam’s neck, licking at his birthmark before pressing down firmly.  He suckles there for a moment, not long enough to leave a bruise but long enough to make Liam moan, push at Zayn’s shoulders because it’s too much.

Zayn tugs Liam away from the light, blinks up at the sky to try and catch the stars but the clouds are too thick, the night too dark.  He’s dragging Liam down a few streets until they’re on a more crowded one, still holding tightly to Liam’s hand as he hails a cab, nudges Liam inside first before falling in behind him with laughter.

They’re calm the whole ride, sitting just close enough that it doesn’t look suspicious but not too far that Zayn can’t rest his fingers on Liam’s knee, drumming along to the beat in his head, eyes rolling when he realizes it’s probably something by Carly Rae or the Fray.  And Liam, he’s looking out the window, cheeks flushed with calm eyes like he’s trying to hold it all in but doing a horrible job at all.  But Zayn notices when Liam sneaks a hand over his, sketching his fingers over Zayn’s, tracing the bumps of his knuckles, the scars, the length of Zayn’s nimble fingers.

Zayn’s digging into his pockets to pull out what quid he has left but Liam beats him to it, pays the cab driver and smiles brightly at Zayn when he gapes at Liam.  There’s shrug of those broad shoulders before Liam’s embracing him, lips crushed to Zayn’s and Zayn smiles into the kiss this time.  They’re drunk on nothing but their own excitement, letting the rain leave little beads of water along their cheeks as they kiss like that, Zayn smirking when Liam tightens his grip on his smaller frame.  He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to escape this feeling.

They’re dragging their lips over each other with laughter up the stairs, almost tripping three times, hands tangled as they push toward Zayn’s door.  Zayn nearly loses a shoe as Liam pushes him up against the wall, his leg lifting and Liam’s cupping the back of his thigh, grinding Zayn into that wall until Zayn feels every bit of what Liam wants to show him down there.  And he’s tipping his head back, gasping when Liam’s teeth sink into his neck, lips kissing the swollen flesh tender.  His nails scratch along Liam’s neck, Liam hissing before grinning, tilting his head up to press rough kisses to Zayn’s lips until they’re swollen and raw.

It’s a tangled mess when they trip inside, Zayn leading Liam in the dark and they stumble more than a few times on the way to Zayn’s bedroom.  Zayn flicks off his shoes somewhere near the couch, Liam tugging off his shirt and dropping it on the arm of a chair.  Zayn kisses along Liam’s neck in the doorway, tongue slipping along the rain, the saltiness of Liam’s sweat, the sweetness of his skin making Zayn’s tongue numb.  Zayn breathes Liam in, more than likes the way Liam’s a little musky and the headiness sends a shiver right along the bottom of his spine.

“Bed,” Liam moans, tangling his fingers into Zayn’s damp hair, pulling Zayn’s head up until they’re kissing again.

“Clothes,” Zayn demands along Liam’s mouth, “ _off_.”

Liam laughs, nods but doesn’t stop kissing until Zayn nips at the edge of his tongue, fumbling with the button of Liam’s pants while Liam finishes off those last few buttons of Zayn’s shirt.  He pushes Zayn back, into the dark room and, fuck it, Zayn’s not even going to bother with the lights.  Part of him wants to see Liam in the light, admire every strip of that skin, muscle, perfectly fit body that Zayn knows Liam’s probably put a tremendous amount of effort into creating.  He smiles around a hope that, just maybe, he’ll see it in the morning light.  Like Liam could possibly stay the night, wake up tangled in Zayn’s sheets smelling like Zayn’s cologne and, even more, smelling like his body spent a few hours too many rubbing along Zayn’s.

When Zayn disentangles himself from his shirt, Liam kicking off his trousers before working on Zayn’s, Zayn takes a moment to kiss Liam proper.  It’s slow, _oh_ , so languid and it pulls Zayn apart from his toes upward.  There’s just a slip of tongue, lips rubbing together until Liam’s gasping for air, Zayn smiling gently before he’s pushing Liam back, dragging down his chinos and kicking them aside.

There’s not enough light from the moon outside slipping into the room and Zayn can only hear Liam pulling down his boxers, listen to Liam’s quiet pants from too far away before an idea hits him.  He smirks in the darkness, turning away from Liam before tripping through the room, pulling his lighter from his pants and he’s moving toward the bedside table, licking his tongue out as he flicks the flame until it catches and he’s lighting those silly candles Louis had bought him the other day because, according to Louis, “It’s all about _ambiance_ my dear chap.”  And he laughs at the scent – fucking hell, Lou, lemon and vanilla? – but it all threads away when he turns back around and finds Liam just a breath away now, naked.

“Romantic,” Liam whispers, edging up and Zayn’s tilting his head up to let Liam kiss him.  “Completely unnecessary, but I like intimacy.”

“Is that what this is?” Zayn wonders, lips sliding over Liam’s as Liam’s fingers dig into his cheekbones.

“No,” Liam says with a laugh.  “This is a _want_.  Pure and simple.”

Zayn nods, accepts that though he’s not completely sure he believes Liam.  Not when the flame of one of the candles dances over those eyes and he sees something a little deeper there.  It’s a rush, fast and then gone, but Zayn still sees it, clings to it.

Liam hooks his fingers into the waistband of Zayn’s jersey-boxers as Zayn gently pushes Liam back on the bed, pulling them down until they’re tangling around Zayn’s thighs and Zayn does the rest, pushes them further down and toeing them off the bed.  He tries to steady himself as Liam scoots backwards towards the headboard, Liam catching him before he tumbles and they’re all smiles beneath the flickering flames before Zayn’s leaning in to capture Liam’s lips.

Zayn pushes Liam downward, the thud of Liam’s head smacking the headboard with a groan distracting him briefly before he’s making up for it with kisses along Liam’s neck, right along his collarbone with his eyes lidded.  He’s fervent with his lips, alternating before soft kisses and small bites to a rough drag with fingers digging into Liam’s sides until Liam’s running a hand through his thick hair, massaging gently against Zayn’s scalp and Zayn knows he’s forgiven.

“Come on,” Liam heaves out as Zayn takes his time moving lower, lips sinking into every corner and dip of Liam’s skin.

He tastes the saltiness, breathes in that heady scent again and Liam’s musk overwhelms him briefly when his chin glides along Liam’s length, feels the smear of precome along his cheek.  And Liam’s fingers are digging into the sheets, tight pants that ring in Zayn’s ear until he eyes Liam’s cock, the flushed head peeking up with the foreskin peeled back and Zayn’s licking his lips without thinking.

“Fuck, you look incredible,” Liam whispers, gentling his fingers through the thicker parts of Zayn’s hair before adding, “I’m so hard thinking about you.”

It’s all Zayn needs before he’s swooping down, suckling the head, tonguing along the slit until Liam lets loose a pinched sigh, pushing on Zayn’s head until he sinks lower.  He feels the rub of the head along the roof of his mouth, doesn’t gag when Liam hits the back of his throat.  He hums lowly, eyes slipping shut until his eyelashes kiss the tops of his cheeks, exhaling deeply.  He sucks wetly, slurping on the way up and Liam’s tentative about pushing down again until Zayn gives him an appreciative nod, lets Liam add a little pressure until he sinks further down this time.

He swallows, tries to smile but can’t when Liam shivers, legs spreading wider.  He can smell Liam, licks around the head and, fuck, he tastes so good.  Zayn can feel the stickiness against his lips from Liam’s precome, licks away the bittersweet flavor before dipping his head down and taking him back in.  He finds a rhythm, cheeks hollowing, lips glossy with spit, jaw aching a little because, yeah, Liam wasn’t the least bit small and it was the kind of thickness that made Zayn’s mouth water more like he could do this.  He could do this more than once, _often_ , just to feel the way the bed shakes when Liam trembles, the way Liam is cautious about pushing at his head, gripping the sheets tightly instead.

“Oh Zayn,” Liam moans deep from his chest, the sound echoing in Zayn’s ears.

He looks up through fluttering eyelashes, Liam’s chin tucked to look down at him and Liam’s in that sort of awe that makes Zayn harder, grinding down against the mattress just for a spark of friction.  He curls his fingers around the base, pulls at Liam’s cock until Liam’s just panting now, unable to push anything past those gritting teeth other than sharp breaths of air.  Zayn drags his small nails along Liam’s thighs, those legs parting even further until he looks wrecked, debauched, ready to do anything Zayn wants him to.

Zayn grins at that, tongue curling around the head as his thumb strokes the underside of it.  The precome is thicker and he thinks he could make Liam come with just his lips, his tongue.  He could unwind Liam, push those thighs back and sink his prick so far into Liam that the other man would be nothing but hollowed out moans for hours.  But then there’s something dark rimming those brown eyes, holding Zayn’s gaze for a second too long and, no, that’s not what he wants.

He wants Liam, inside of him, breaking him with just his thrusts and his hands.

Zayn groans around the head of Liam’s cock, pulling off with a wet pop that Liam sighs at, toes digging into the sheets now and Zayn’s climbing up him, watching the way Liam’s lips push into a frown.

“You looked so… shit, so unbelievable,” Zayn moans, fingers running the roundness of Liam’s cheeks, nose nuzzling against Liam’s before he’s pressing wet kisses to his lips.  He’s thrusting his tongue in Liam’s mouth, letting Liam swipe off that flavor of his own body until they’re both trembling.

“You didn’t have to stop,” Liam laughs out, his fingers stroking over Zayn’s collarbone, tracing over the scattered tattoos.

“Babe, I want you to fuck me,” Zayn says up against Liam’s lips, licking away the shock when Liam gapes at him.  Liam’s fingers dig into the back of his neck, refusing to let Zayn pull away this time.

“You don’t have to – “

“Stop being polite,” Zayn orders, mouthing Liam’s lips.  “And fuck me however you want, babe.”

Liam snorts, eyebrow lifting.  He sucks on Zayn’s bottom lip, teething pulling a little and Zayn’s grinning right back, Zayn’s fingers dragging down Liam’s back until his small nails leave tiny red marks along that tan skin.  He laughs lowly, deep in his chest, when Liam pushes his head aside, bites firmly into that muscle between his neck and shoulder.  He drags his fingers along Liam’s scalp, somehow wishing there was more hair there just so he could give Liam those small tugs that he knows would excite Liam.

Zayn pushes Liam back for a moment, grinning down at him while blindly reaching for that bedside table, yanking open a drawer and he’s dragging out a row of gold-foiled condoms, reaching back for a bottle of lube when Liam traces his tongue along Zayn’s chest, circles a nipple before dragging his teeth along one of the skulls near the edge of Zayn’s chest.  He drops them on the bed, runs a tongue over his lips before he pulls Liam back up and their lips meet again, slipping with wetness.  He swallows that moan Liam lets out, straddling Liam with the sort of confidence he only masters in the bedroom.

“Turn around,” Liam says against his lips, tongue licking at Zayn’s teeth.

Zayn quirks up an eyebrow, Liam’s eyes narrowing and they’re dark like burnt amber, a curving shiver running up Zayn’s spine.  He nods slowly, would probably do a handstand right now if Liam told him to because he’s that aroused, that excited by the thought of Liam taking a bit of control.  He’s usually dominant in bed, taking the lead, spreading a pretty girl’s legs or shoving a fit bloke into the wall so he can slip in impatiently, screwing into them until he’s breathless and satisfied.  But Liam’s fingers are curving around his hip, his mouth is mapping out Zayn’s skin, his eyes are walking that fine line between sinful and enthralled whenever he looks on Zayn.

Zayn’s shifting off of Liam, digging his knees into the mattress when he turns around, back to Liam.  His hands plant on the sheets, a small glance over his shoulder with his lip caught between his teeth just to look on Liam but the glance is short-lived.  He’s hissing, long and winded, when something cool rubs at his entrance, a thick finger inching inside and, fuck, it’s been a little too long since Zayn’s felt this.  The pressure is waning, heavy on his muscles, head dropping until Liam’s gentling kisses along his shoulder, working that finger in to the knuckle.  Liam rotates it, adds a little more pressure before pulling back and out.  Zayn holds his breath, lungs on fire until Liam eases back in, small thrusts that loosen Zayn.  It flickers against his spine, that newness draining and it’s oh so familiar in moments.  And when Liam adds another finger, Zayn’s fingers pulling at the sheets with his knuckles white, Zayn’s moaning more from the pleasure rather than the pain, the intrusion.

He’s counting backwards, learning to breathe again, back arching when Liam puts a little pressure on the small of his back, nudging Zayn’s legs apart with his knee.  Zayn grins hard, welcomes the way Liam does it all with the finest delicacy like he might hurt Zayn though Zayn doesn’t imagine someone who smiles quite like that could ever really hurt anyone.  Still, Liam’s biting at his shoulder, scissoring his fingers in Zayn before his wrist twists, that middle finger inching along something that has nuclear bombs bursting in Zayn’s stomach, his cock throbbing against his stomach and Zayn’s dragging a moan along the walls of his room.

“ _Fuck_ , no, no, don’t move from _there_ ,” Zayn gasps out, pushes back until Liam nudges against that bundle of nerves again.  He exhales hard, sweat breaking from his forehead.  His toes curl, tongue licking at his own teeth.  “Don’t ever stop that.”

Liam chuckles, kisses softly against the side of Zayn’s neck, lips up against Zayn’s ear.  “What would you do for more?”

Zayn shudders.  Fuck, this kid is good.  Incredible.  He’s pushing back with a need that’s wrapping tightly around his throat.

“Liam,” he moans, bites at his tongue when it breaks his lips because he didn’t mean to let that out.

“Yeah?”

“Oh Liam,” Zayn groans, unable to shake the way he feels when Liam adds a third finger.  He’s full, the pressure stretching him with a fire sizzling over his skin.

His arms feel more than a little weak, his legs shifting further apart and he feels Liam’s weight lift off of his back, those fingers remaining for only seconds more before they’re gone.  He’s empty, mind laying somewhere along some barren wasteland.  There’s a thin layer of sweat on his back and everything spins a little when Liam curls an arm around Zayn’s midsection, pulling him up until Liam’s chest is against Zayn’s back.  He rocks his head back, lets it rest on Liam’s shoulder and his breathing is already uneven when Liam rubs the head of his cock against Zayn’s hole.

“Can I fuck you?”

Zayn bites down heavily on his bottom lip this time, head nodding.

“Yeah.”

“And you’ll say my name when it feels good?”

Zayn sighs impatiently, rocking his hips back until the head nudges against his hole.

“Yes,” Zayn shudders out, whining when Liam runs his cock along the crack rather than just fucking slipping inside of Zayn like he wants so desperately.

“Zayn,” Liam whispers, adding a little pressure but still too far away.  “I want you.”

“Just fuck me already,” Zayn snaps, eyes shut with his brow pulled tightly together.  “ _Please._ ”

And that’s all it takes.  He suffocates on his next inhale, Liam pushing roughly into him and that burn is a thousand times worse than those fingers.  It coils Zayn’s spine, muscles tightening, and Liam’s whispering gentle words in his ear, slowing just a bit as Zayn adjusts.  He’s all runaway kisses that strip over Zayn’s neck, the sharpness of his jawline, right along his shoulder until Zayn breathes out something resembling a comforting breath.

“Relax,” Liam begs, fingers digging into Zayn’s hip, probably leaving the kind of bruises Zayn will remember without trying.

“I’m trying.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Zayn breaks at that, wills away pain to push back until Liam’s bottoming out, filling Zayn with a thickness he’s never had.  His chest swells, far too much emotion for the sort of sex he’s used to, before dropping it all away like an empty shot glass.  His lips part, Liam exhaling a shuddering breath along his shoulder.

Zayn smirks, muscles clenching and Liam’s trembling, chin resting on Zayn’s shoulder before he’s dragging his hips back.  Zayn reaches for something, anything to cool that sharp burn but he’s pulling at air until Liam rests just the head inside of him, nipping at Zayn’s shoulder blade.  There’s a slow push back in, Zayn’s eyes rolling back and he’s adjusting quicker than he thought he would.  He tugs at his bottom lip, a sweaty hand running up his heaving chest until Liam’s hand molds over his, fingers twining in a spectacularly comforting way that Zayn glares at.

Fuck, he’s ruined, he knows it.

“Come on,” Zayn urges, reaching back with the hand Liam’s not holding to tug on the back of Liam’s neck.  “Move.  Fuck me.”

It’s all grins against his shoulder, sharp bites, and the stars are bursting in front of his eyes from there.  Liam moves like he knows what Zayn likes, like he can feel every inch of Zayn calling for more.  He’s restless, panting hard, sweat sticking to his forehead and, shit, Liam’s pretty amazing, not that he’s willing to admit that aloud.  He holds onto a moan, doesn’t give in because he needs this to be just sex.  He needs it to be a fuck – a brilliantly amazing one the way Liam’s thrusting in him – so he can forget it all in a day.  Maybe a week.  He can’t afford the attachment, the way Liam’s probably not going to look at him the way he does when Zayn glances over his shoulder into those blown wide brown eyes.

“You’re tight,” Liam hisses, a slow drag to his hips now that curls Zayn’s toes.  “Like this isn’t the first time, but still, it’s been awhile.”

Zayn gasps then, bites down hard on his lip until his teeth sink a little too far in and Liam’s thumb is rubbing tenderly at the swollen flesh, kissing Zayn’s cheek.  He can’t handle this – the soft Liam, the Liam that’s rough with him.  There’s an animalistic growl to Liam’s grunts, his sweaty forehead pressed to the back of Zayn’s neck as he licks around the large tattoo at the bottom of Zayn’s neck.

His knees are raw, probably red, but he’s not going to lay down.  He pushes back against the snap of Liam’s hips, smirks at the way Liam purrs right up against his shoulder.  He feels hot blush wash over his cheeks, the way Liam smiles against his flesh, whispering, “You’re fucking amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t tell anyone that,” Liam confesses lowly, his tongue licking out to rub against a bruise his lips leave behind on the back of Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn feels a pinch in his stomach, that jealously creeping up again, and who is he to even wonder how many others Liam’s made feel like this?  Why would he even care if Liam’s had a proper boyfriend before, someone to wake up to in the morning, someone who says “I love you” with a smile and kisses Liam breathless.  He doesn’t give a shit, at all.  This is just a… it’s a moment and, Christ, Zayn’s falling apart admitting it to himself.

Liam twists his thumb and forefinger around a nipple, hugging an arm around Zayn’s chest and pulling his backside flush to Liam’s body.  Liam’s deep, rubbing at his prostate, and if he wasn’t so busy trying not to moan, he’d let Liam know how good he is.

There’s a rhythm to Liam’s actions, the pull and the push, the tug of war, the way all Zayn can hear is Liam’s heavy breathing and the slap of flesh as Liam fucks him harder.  His legs spread a little wider, eyes shutting tightly when Liam smacks the head of his cock against that sweet spot that leaves Zayn’s mouth hanging open and his fingers reaching desperately for his own cock.  Liam beats him there, kisses lined against Zayn’s throat.

“Don’t do it,” Liam orders, almost begs when Zayn’s fingers try to bypass his own.  “Just a little longer.”

Zayn wants to tell him he _can’t_ , wants to point to his aching cock so Liam knows how bad he needs to come.  But then Liam’s craning his neck, fingers around Zayn’s chin to turn his head toward him.  He nibbles on his lip just before Liam’s lips touch his, finally releasing that bundled up moan he’s been hanging on to.

“It’s okay,” Liam whispers softly against his lips, cock slamming into Zayn but his touches are so gentle.  “You can say it.”

Zayn mumbles at that, chokes on a moan as his cock leaks heavily against the sheets.  Fuck, he’s going to have to burn these sheets now but he doesn’t care because his knees ache, his thighs throb, and Liam’s making him feel untouchable with just his fingers.

“Liam,” Zayn whimpers, giving in with his pride sinking, emotions swelling.

“Yeah Zayn?” Liam’s grinning, lopsided and he’s beautiful, honestly.  Those brown eyes are light, coated in honey, endearing in the most frustrating way.

“Liam, please,” Zayn moans, pushing back until Liam’s buried to the hilt again.  He stays there, small nudges that break the patch of sanity Zayn’s barely holding onto.

“Mmm,” Liam hums, sliding a hand down until he’s gripping the inside of Zayn’s thigh, thumb stroking over the thicker hair there before he’s really thrusting into Zayn, breath pulsing on the back of Zayn’s neck.

“Let me come,” Zayn pleads, head tipping forward.

“Anything for you,” Liam utters without the hesitation Zayn wishes existed.  “I’ve got you, Zayn.”

Zayn believes him.  Fuck, he doesn’t want to, but he _does_.  There’s something so heartbreakingly honest in Liam’s voice, in the tenderness of his tone that Zayn nearly topples over with the pressure that builds against his chest.  It barely overrides that twist in Zayn’s stomach, his breathing chopped and Liam’s moaning his name like it’s the only word he knows.

Sweat’s sticking to his skin, adding a beautiful sheen to Liam’s complexion, and Zayn’s vision gets a bit out of focus when Liam’s sweaty hand skates up his thigh and wraps around his cock.

It’s rather maddening, the way Liam merely has to stroke his thumb over the head a few times, his fingers wrapped firmly around the base before Zayn’s throwing his head back to rest on Liam’s shoulder, back arching severely as he comes.  His eyes slip shut, mouth hanging open for Liam to trace his thumb along Zayn’s bottom lip as everything inside of him tightens.  He feels himself gripping Liam’s cock, keeping him deep and the sheets are probably stained in his come but he doesn’t care because Liam keeps stroking him through it.  His eyes blink open, watch the way Liam strokes him until he’s too sensitive to move before Liam’s sucking incessantly at his neck, teeth digging in as he jabs into Zayn a few more times before stiffening and groaning loudly against his skin.

He drags his hands through his hair, breathless, nearly slumped against Liam’s body.  He winces a little when Liam slowly pulls out, his body aching for that fullness to return before Liam’s kissing at his cheek, easing them both down into the sheets.  His breathing is still uneven, Liam peeling a few damp strands of his hair from his forehead before rolling away.  Zayn’s head falls to the side, watching Liam against the candlelight, the way his body glows with sweat and he’s incredibly toned and fit.

“Should I go?” Liam asks over his shoulder, carefully peeling the condom off before knotting it.

Zayn blinks for a moment, chewing on his lip thoughtfully.  He watches the way Liam’s lips move sideways like he knows what Zayn’s going to say, like he knows Zayn’s going to tell him to leave.

And he is, until he’s saying, “I fancy a cuddle after a good fuck, don’t you?”

There’s a warming smile that slowly rises against Liam’s thick lips like the curve of the sun any other morning in London.  He nods shyly, Zayn fighting against his own grin before Liam’s dropping the condom off in the trash by the door, jerking his head in the direction of the door.

“Bathroom’s across the hall,” Zayn tells him, answering the question Zayn knows Liam wants to ask.

He snorts at Liam’s gleeful nod, bounding out of the room and the water’s running as Zayn curls into the sheets, eyes heavy.  He doesn’t have a moment to gather his thoughts, regret any of this before Liam’s back, sliding onto the bed and Zayn welcomes the way Liam scoops Zayn’s smaller frame into his arms, nose pressed to Zayn’s neck.  He smiles at that, finding a way to fit his arm over Liam’s waist while tangling his legs with Liam’s.

The flame from the candles are flickering low, the scent of vanilla and lemon mixed with the headiness of sex, sweat, the sharp cologne that used to stick to Zayn’s skin.  He catches the way the light bounces off of Liam’s cheeks, dances gold over Liam’s eyes.  There’s a small smirk on Liam’s lips, his fingers running the angle of Zayn’s cheeks.  Zayn bites at the way that softness makes him feel… like it’s okay.  Like he shouldn’t want this feeling to run away, like he’s sort of wanted to for too long now.

The soft glow highlights the crinkle around Liam’s eyes, the way his lashes look against his cheeks when he tries to keep his eyes open but fails.  He doesn’t tense, well not that much, when Liam cuddles closer and something instinctual grips him as he runs a hand over the soft prickles of Liam’s head, Liam’s nose nuzzling sweetly against the crook of his neck.

There’s something like a rush, the way Liam’s fingers tiptoe over his ribs, that settles against him but he wills away the panic for a moment to listen to Liam’s breathing suddenly turn even.  His lips quirk up against Liam’s forehead, the push cold and steely against his brain but his emotions are far too warm.  He tries to piece together the words Liam mumbles against his skin but he’s too captivated by the way that warm breath feels against his skin.

“It’s okay if I stay, yeah?”

Zayn made a humming noise, massaging his fingers into Liam’s skin.

“I don’t want to, you know – “

“Liam,” Zayn whispers, his thumb pushing Liam’s chin up until he could look into those drooping brown eyes.  “Be quiet.”

Liam nods, lips bitten by teeth.  “Okay.”

“Okay,” Zayn repeats lowly, off-center smirk pushing against his pink lips.

His eyes are too heavy after that.  Liam’s stroking over his collarbone, drawing over the curve of the bone lazily and he doesn’t know why but he’s drawing Liam closer until it almost feels like they’re breathing is synchronized, Liam’s lips brushing lightly over the bottom of his neck.  He doesn’t bother arguing with the part of his mind that keeps reminding him that this, this silly little thing he was doing was just supposed to be a fuck.  It should have been; so should have a lot of things in his life.  He just settles against a pillow, lets Liam tangle fingers into his already mused hair, and those eyes are sliding shut watching the way Liam falls asleep curled around him.

**

Zayn feels more than a little off the next morning.  He’s a blur of abandoned thoughts, brow wrinkling, and he can taste the dried alcohol in the back of his throat.  He’s a little hazy, body sore in that pleasant way he only feels when… right, he did do that last night, didn’t he?  He smiles to himself for just a second, frowning when he feels the sun tipping into the window like its way too early and he knows when he finally bats his eyes open he’s going to feel the other side of the bed deadly cold.  Except, when he goes to stretch, it’s incredibly hard because there are arms wrapped around his waist, a head on his shoulder and, _oh_ , that was _Liam._

He narrows his eyes at the boy who seems to be sleeping so peacefully.  He chews on his bottom lip, shifts some in the bed to prop his head up on his elbow, trying not to smirk at the way Liam snuggles close again for a beat before mumbling and rolling away.  Zayn tangles his fingers in his thick hair, sideways grin on his mouth while stretching his eyes over the nice expanse of tan skin, the way Liam’s shoulders look, the firmness of his back and Zayn snorts at the little red marks here and there.  _He_ did that to Liam.  And that tightness in his belly, the way he’s sore and satisfied all at once – _Liam_ did that to him.

He slips off the duvet, rolls out of the bed and tries not to shiver at the way his bare feet feel against the cold hardwood floor.  He stretches quietly before bending down to snatch up his briefs, slides into a pair of jeans he had left crumpled in the corner.  He glances back to the bed, Liam still sleeping soundly, before easing into a clean t-shirt, half-bitten smile on his lips.  He’s not thinking about the way he wouldn’t mind Liam being in his bed more than a few mornings, naked, eyeing the small of Liam’s back and, yeah, he’s thinking maybe Liam will look even more wrecked after Zayn fucks him on that bed.  He shakes his head, fingers pulling impatiently through his hair again before he’s moving toward the door, closing it quietly behind himself.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment when he escapes to the bathroom.  His hands grip at the edges of the sink, leaning forward and a grin manages to slip over his lips.  His hair is completely fucked and, when he shifts his arms a little, the collar of his shirt dips and he can see a few red marks, some turning into purplish bruises.  He sighs, knows those are from Liam’s mouth, his teeth, and he feels himself harden at the thought of feeling that again.  _Brilliant_ , he thinks, rubbing at his eyes for a second before he’s shaking it all away.  There might be a beautiful boy in his bed, one that he should probably sneak back to lay with, maybe see if Liam wakes up as horny as Zayn does, but he knows it can’t last.  It’s a one off, plain and unappreciatively simple.

He brushes his teeth, runs his fingers under the water to pull through his hair before slipping a bit of product in it to style it just enough to get by.  He doesn’t work until later this evening and usually he’d sleep in until at least one if Louis didn’t stop by and ruin that peaceful slumber.  Or he’d find a corner of the flat just to write in that tattered black notebook he’s had since Tenth Year, spend hours in his own thoughts until almost all of it came out on paper in messy handwriting.  But there’s something niggling at the back of his mind, something he’s supposed to do other than thinking about falling back into that bed to catch a few more minutes of sleep with his head against a firm chest.

When he stumbles into the living area, his stomach coils a little at the strong scent of coffee surging through the room.  A grin tips on his lips, fingers rubbing at the back of the neck.  He inches further into the room, head shaking when he finds Niall surrounded by open text books, a notebook in his lap with his head bowed and his back to Zayn.  Zayn bites on his bottom lip, takes in the snapback covering that sun-bleached blonde hair, that pale skin of his shoulders with small freckles right along the edges.  Niall loves sitting on that lumpy couch, surrounded by books, shirtless with a highlighter doing more of the reading than Niall actually was.  He knows he can find Niall occasionally humming along to some silly song from his iPod as he does this with his fingers drumming along the pages of the books, head nodding, and the world doesn’t seem to come alive without him.

He remembers when Niall first moved in, only in his second week at University with that thick Irish accent, and, really, Zayn was just looking for someone to help cover the rent.  But then Niall was loads of fun, wickedly funny, quite possibly the happiest person Zayn had met outside of Louis but without the shit moods.  And he was decidedly kind, in that way that Zayn thought he’d be annoyed with but he wasn’t.  He could sit around the flat with Niall for hours, watching films, laughing at completely nothing, playing a few games of FIFA until Zayn got frustrated with losing and Niall would always drag Zayn back down to the couch, cuddle up to him, and talk about all the dreams he has after University.  Zayn would always smile at that, drag his fingers through Niall’s hair, listening to the way Niall’s tone shifted from solemn to satiate just that quickly.

Zayn clears his throat softly, head tilting sideways with a grin when Niall’s head pops up.  Those eyes, crystalline-blue, look a bit more amused rather than shocked.  There’s a knowing grin slipping over those pink lips, one that leaves Zayn gnawing on his own bottom lip at.  Niall’s jerking his head toward the back, nodding with eyes turning painfully brighter and Zayn’s narrowing his own, annoyed with blush heating his cheeks.

“You brought home a stray,” Niall says with that manic smirk.

Zayn opens his mouth, snaps it back shut when Niall raises an eyebrow at him, and Niall’s tipping back with a loud laugh.  Zayn flips him off, moving toward the kitchen and pretending the way Niall laughs doesn’t tickle his stomach.  He pulls the pot off the burner, takes a whiff and makes a face.  Niall really is shit at making coffee.

“You never let them stay the night, Zayn,” Niall notes and Zayn can hear Niall’s smile even though he can’t see Niall’s face.

Zayn grumbles at him, pours the coffee into a mug before blowing at it.

“He must be something special,” Niall adds, slumping into the kitchen to lean on the counter.

Zayn thinks about smacking the grin off of Niall’s face, sipping at the coffee until the sting fades away.  He rolls his eyes when Niall watches him, waiting like Zayn has the best explanation for why there’s still an incredibly fit chap asleep in his bed, his scent sticking to Zayn’s sheets, his head on Zayn’s pillow and Zayn feels more than a little cold at the thought of how those warm fingers felt against his skin through the night.

“It’s nothing,” Zayn says, pushing past Niall to round the counter.

“Nothing?” Niall snorts, elbows on the corner to grin at Zayn lovingly.  “He stayed the _night_.  In your _bed_.  Fucking hell, the last person that did that was – “

“Niall,” Zayn cuts in, his tone a warning.

Niall smiles, lips falling shut but his eyebrow is arching with a smug grin.

Zayn takes a large swallow of that awful coffee, considers texting Louis and begging for one of those delicious cups from that one place on Campbell Avenue, but he remembers his phone is tucked away in those chinos that were still on the floor in his bedroom.  The bedroom Liam was still in it.

He sighs, tries not to look defeated when Niall taps his fingers along the counter, still waiting on Zayn to say something.  He’s too knackered for this, shoulders slumping forward.

“He’s just, um, he’s this guy,” Zayn starts, his mind a little numb.  He was more than just a guy, Zayn knew it.  “He’s our new – “

A knock at the door startles Zayn, cripples his words and he’s glancing over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.  Niall’s skipping out of the kitchen before Zayn can say anything else, grinning happily.  Maybe it’s Louis; it usually is.  Maybe it’s Harry and that thought alone left Zayn frozen, fearful in the worst way.  What if he was looking for Liam?  What if he’d seen Zayn leave the club with Liam?  And, fuck, did he really feel like explaining what happened to that grinning hipster, with Niall probably smirking at them, when the worst part of him still just wanted to crawl back into his bed and hope Liam wouldn’t mind staying for just a little longer to keep him company.

Zayn blinks at the door after Niall swings it open, everything restlessly hazy.  He barely hears the way Niall goes on about something when Perrie walks in, glossed up smile on her lips as she listens to Niall.  Oh, _that_ was what he forgot.  And Niall’s a giggling mess, teasing her and making faces at something else that Zayn barely notices until Perrie stops in front of him.  He inhales sharply, his fingers numb and he catches the way her lips tilt into an almost jarring frown until she turns slightly and pushes her arms up for him to see.

His fingers run smoothly over that soft russet brown hair, pushing back the tender fringe carefully.  He guides his thumb over thick eyebrows, down to the nose that’s more Perrie’s than his.  He dances his fingertips over the pinkish blush against those cheeks, that skin tone ivory-gold and oh so soft.  Zayn doesn’t resist the quiet smile that fixes against his lips when he looks into large eyes that are the gentlest shade of iris he’s ever seen.  They’re almost blue-violet, rimmed with the quietest spinning of gold, something reminiscent of both of their eyes.  Those pink lips spread into a smile, showing the definition of that chin that’s definitely Zayn’s.  Small hands stop clinging to Perrie’s shirt, reach for him and there’s something bursting inside of Zayn just that quickly.

“He missed you,” Perrie remarks quietly, nestling a hand behind the infant’s head.

Zayn nods slowly, strokes his thumb over those tiny lips until a giggle is released.

Perrie sighs before grinning, struggling to snuggle the child deep in her arms.  She tilts her head at Zayn, studying him and Zayn swallows, wonders if she can spot the marks along his collarbone.  He watches the way her eyebrow quirks like Niall’s earlier, his head dropping some and, fuck, he doesn’t blush.  Not even for compliments.  How she could always do this to him he’s never understood.

“Zayn brought home a stray,” Niall announces happily, throwing an arm around Perrie’s shoulders.  He teases the infant in Perrie’s arms, nose scrunching when he receives a delighted squeal.

Perrie’s brow lifts, eyes never falling away from Zayn.  She smirks haughtily, adjusting the baby, before puckering her lips.  He definitely thinks he could kill Niall and get Louis to help him with the body, though Louis is quite partial to Niall.  Still, Louis owes him.

“Should I ask?” Perrie wonders, her eyebrow arching even higher.

“He was quite fit from what I could tell,” Niall adds, Zayn’s head snapping in his direction with wide eyes.  Niall waves him off, ignores him in favor of what’s cradled in Perrie’s arms.  “Not that I checked him out or anything.  You sort of left your door a little open last night.”

“Oh, is he?” Perrie grins, Zayn running nervous fingers along the back of his neck.

She’s taking a piss at him, he knows.  It’s an understanding they’ve had for months now.  They both know that what was between them is just that – the past, for good or bad.  And she was one of the first he almost unwilling admitted to about possibly fancying men when he was old enough to realize it.  The tears, from his eyes as well as hers, still feel like they stain his chest sometimes but she accepted it.  He wonders sometimes if she did it because she loved him more than he loved her.  Or maybe, secretly, they both knew no matter how many Coldplay songs they danced to, no matter how many times they held each other’s hands, there was no changing either of them.

“Go on now,” Perrie insists with a smirk, edging closer to Zayn while lifting the infant higher for him.  “Go on and hold little Safi.  I’m certain he’s been more than a little chuffed about seeing his father since we got here.”

Zayn lifted gentle hands, carefully pulled his son from Perrie’s grasp.  He lifted him high with a grin, watching the way those iris eyes lit up, smile tumbling over shiny pink lips.  He’s still in amazement at what one night, one of very few where he’d even touched Perrie in _that_ way, gave him.  It still feels like it wasn’t but a week ago, Safi now ten months old, and Zayn’s certain that his life has never shifted so much without him even trying.

A quiet smile still sinks against his lips when he thinks about sneaking out of the house, using what little money he had to catch a cab to the hospital after Perrie called him.  It was late, way too late when he should’ve been at home studying History or some shit, but if he closes his eyes, he can still hear the quiet surrounding him the first time he held Safi.  He still remembers how cold his skin was until the nurse slipped Safi into his arms, the way he chewed on his bottom lip in that nursery because, fuck, he didn’t even know how to _hold_ a baby, let alone take care of one.  And the way that rocking chair he sat in squeaked as he rocked, the wood worn and impossibly uncomfortable, still couldn’t override the thud of his heart as Safi shifted quietly in his arms.

He stayed there as long as he could while Perrie rested.  He worried his bottom lip, so fearful he was going to break such a fragile thing in his arms.  He knows Safi broke him the moment those eyes blinked open for a second, Zayn catching his breath at the way those light eyes looked up at him – _Up with your turrent. Aren’t we just terrified?_ Tiny fingers gripped around Zayn’s index finger, a solid tug like Zayn was the only thing holding this infant together.  And those soft whines from Safi when he was restless, the way Zayn leaned in close to press his lips to the side of that tiny head, humming until Safi was quiet once more.  His eyes shifted shut with Safi’s, clinging onto this little piece of life that changed all that he’d never planned out for himself – _Screen your worry from what you won’t ever find_.

He never hid his son from anyone.  He wasn’t ashamed of Safi, wasn’t disappointed by his existence.  He just never talked about him.  Not to anyone who didn’t matter, like the guys who only wanted a fuck or the girls who wore that disguise of interest so well but Zayn saw through it all.  Safi was the one part of himself that kept him from running away from the world.  Safi was the thing that mattered the most when Zayn had stop finding things that mattered a while ago.

Louis and Niall were the only ones Zayn let in close enough to know about Safi, Eleanor too, outside of his family though they still weren’t really talking to him.  His chest always aches knowing his mum had yet to hold Safi, to look on this wondrous smile the way Zayn has.  But then there were friends like Niall who could sit for hours entertaining Safi as if he was a mate from back home.  And Louis, who was an incredibly selfish person except when it came to his friends, and when it came to Safi.  Louis, who spoiled Safi as much as Niall did with new toys or read him a story when Safi was utterly inconsolable when Zayn was just too knackered to do anything but crash on the couch.  The Louis who insisted on Safi calling him “Uncle Lou” – “You’re quite _mad_ , you know that, right?” Niall told him – even though Safi couldn’t utter a word and Louis still threated to _“remove your balls through your arse if you look at me like that again Zee”_ whenever Zayn gave him shit about it.

Louis and Niall who, even during Zayn’s weakest moments, reminded him that he was incredibly brave and strong for never just leaving Perrie behind, Safi too – _Wings wouldn’t help you, wings wouldn’t help you._   The sort of mates Zayn had decided didn’t exist in the world before he met them.  The ones that took a piss at Zayn, made fun of his vainness, gave him shit about his moodiness, and sat on the floor eating takeaway instead of riding into town for one of those drunken benders or Uni parties when Zayn kept Safi for the weekend because Perrie was too sick to do so.

Zayn pulled Safi in close, cradling him into his arms, even though he’s getting bigger now and a bit more restless, running a hand over the top of Safi’s warm head.  He leans in, presses a kiss to Safi’s forehead, smirking when Safi coos before trying to pull at Zayn’s hair with his small hands.  He leans back, Safi yawning quietly before rubbing at his eyes.

He feels Perrie’s eyes on them, watching intently.  She shifts uncomfortably for a second before grinning, hugging herself as Zayn cuddles closer to Safi.  And he still feels guilty that this one simple act he did for Perrie in hopes of making her happy created this beautiful boy with eyes like a field of flowers dancing in the wind, under the streams of a thousand rays of sunshine.  But she never reminds him, not even when she could.  He can see it in her eyes sometimes – she’s unsure of where she belongs in any of this.

“The little bugger is getting so big,” Niall gushes, inching up to the side of Zayn with a smirk.  “Thank goodness he doesn’t look completely like you.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, elbowing Niall.  He grins down at Safi as Safi’s eyes slip shut.  “One day Niall, when you’re married – “

“Shut it Malik,” Niall whines lowly, knocking Zayn with his hip before jumping back.  “No woman will ever claim this Mullingar heart.”

Perrie rolls her eyes with a chuckle, sweeping back sections of her hair behind her ear.  “Daft fucker.”

Niall snorts, adjusting his snapback.  “I’m not easy to win over, Perrie.”

“You’re easier than Louis is you little Irish shit,” Perrie teases, slinking an arm around his shoulders.  “And Zayn’s right.”

Zayn smiles at that, eyes shifting away when Perrie’s narrow like they’re not supposed to smile at each other anymore.  He looks back down to Safi, his thumb running lightly over Safi’s nose.

“Um, I don’t mean to interrupt anything.”

Zayn doesn’t freeze up at the sound of Liam’s voice, but his shoulders do tense and he wonders if he’s holding Safi a little too tight when he turns slowly around just as Liam walks into the room with a curious expression painted over his face.  His throat goes a bit dry, his face probably overly pale when Liam runs his eyes over Zayn, shifting down toward Safi in his arms with a quirked eyebrow that Zayn wants to scrutinize but doesn’t when a small smile tugs at Liam’s lips.  His eyes run over Niall, who’s grinning madly, and then Perrie who hastily walks up to Zayn, offering her arms.  Zayn hesitates, studies Liam just a little longer as the other boy slips his hands into the pockets of his trousers.  Oh yeah, Liam _does_ look different with clothes on, that reserved and honest wholesomeness that Zayn’s not terribly annoyed with anymore.

“Well,” Niall beams, leaning on the kitchen counter.

“I can hold my son now,” Perrie says lowly, eyebrows lifting as if to tell Zayn something.

Liam rubs at the back of his head, lips closed, his brow wrinkling and he looks devastatingly attractive with the way he looks as if he’s thinking hard while trying to remain nonchalant.  Zayn feels the tug on his bottom lip from a frown, lifts Safi up some to offer to Perrie but then holds when Safi yawns, bats his eyes open again.

“He’s adorable,” Liam finally utters, leaning in a little and Zayn winces when he sniffs Zayn’s cologne sticking to Liam’s skin.  His brown eyes lift, Zayn chewing at his bottom lip.  “Cute kid.”

“Thank you,” Perrie says quickly, reaching in and pulling Safi from Zayn.  “He’s mine.”

“ _Oh._ ” Niall’s hand slips over his mouth immediately with wide blue eyes.

Zayn grimaces at the way Liam pulls back, rubbing at the back of his neck while trading glances between Zayn and Perrie.  There’s a question in his head, a wonder if he should, and Zayn’s holding in a groan, wanting this to have never happen.  Not Safi because, without him in Zayn’s arms, Zayn feels empty.  No, this _thing_ with Liam, whatever it was, Perrie being here even though he knew she was coming, Niall just standing there with that faraway look in his eyes like he knows he should be helping Zayn out but he just doesn’t know how to.

“He’s _ours_ ,” Zayn finally blurts out, brow lowered with a tense jaw.

“Bloody hell,” Niall whispers, his best impersonation of Louis doing little to make Zayn smile.  “Coffee anyone?” he offers to lighten the way the air gets incredibly thick but no one really responds.

Perrie’s wide-eyed, biting at her lip because they both know Perrie was offering him a way out.  She always does as if she wants Zayn to know it’s okay for him to run.  It’s okay for him to deny Safi because, no matter what happened in the past, she’s always felt Safi was her responsibility, not Zayn’s.

Liam’s quiet in that thoughtful manner that’s driving Zayn mad.  He’s roaming his eyes around the room, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, and giving Zayn looks like he’s more than a bit lost.  It unnerves Zayn for a moment, hands desperate to run through his hair with frustration or hold a cigarette between his fingers, inhaling the escape while exhaling the distress pulling at his brain.

“His name is Safi,” Zayn explains, reaching to run a hand across Safi’s cheeks, down over his chin.  “He was born last October.  He’s great, wonderful.  Best thing to ever happen to me.  And he’s _mine_.  My son.”

Zayn watches the way Liam slowly nods along to all of it, eyes flitting over Perrie who’s tensing up even more.  Niall’s humming in the kitchen with his back to them, pretending to prepare cups of coffee but really he’s just glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to see what’s happening.

“Safi?” Liam finally asks, a spark lighting his eyes before he’s grinning.

Zayn nods, still chewing on his lip.  “It means pure.”

Liam grins a little thicker for Zayn and that look alone is catching Zayn off guard.  Liam’s tilting his head to admire Safi in Perrie’s arms.  She adjusts him a little, pulls him up until he rests his head on her shoulder, fingers gripping at her shirt.  She smirks at Liam, one of those looks Zayn catalogued a long time ago as her bullshit way of glaring at someone.

“And I’m Perrie,” she tells him, hand cradling Safi’s head.  “I’m Zayn’s – “

“I should probably go,” Liam cuts in abruptly, blinking at Perrie for a beat before turning to Zayn.

Zayn cocks an eyebrow upward, rubbing at his neck.  He spots the indifference that settles into Liam’s expression, the cooled smile, the way he’s sort of twisting his lips sideways waiting on Zayn to say something but Zayn, as much as he wants to, doesn’t.

“I’ve got a few things to take care of for Harry,” Liam speaks up, darting his eyes away from Zayn’s and suddenly he’s looking all over the flat, anywhere except Zayn’s eyes.  “But it was a pleasure meeting you all.”

“I’m Niall by the way,” Niall calls out as Liam moves toward the door, grinning when blush smatters Liam’s cheeks.  “Just another bloke living in this obviously mad flat.”

Liam nods, sucks his bottom lip in as he reaches for the doorknob.  His eyes, the ones that are decidedly solemn now, flicker over Zayn and Zayn swallows, narrowing his eyes just a little at Liam.  He expects this, really, because most guys, or girls, don’t have a reason to stick around when they find out someone has a child.  Not someone as young as Zayn who’s been carrying the weight of the world in his back pocket like it’s fitting there.  Someone who’s so unsettled in their life that it feels more chaotic than it does stable.  And why would they?  Zayn doesn’t have much to offer outside of the bedroom or his cheeky remarks but he’s certain that wasn’t meant to get you far in life, not unless you planned on just being a toy someone can pick up when they want to.

He didn’t think Liam was like that.  But, then again, it wasn’t the first time he’d judged someone wrong.

Zayn watches a tiny bit of hesitance roll over Liam’s face before he pulls the door open, head ducking as he walks out.  He doesn’t know why there’s a dullness aching against his chest, his fingers still itching for that cigarette, and Liam wasn’t supposed to mean anything, remember?  A simple fuck.  A good time because Zayn needed one of those every once in a while.  He couldn’t afford them every day, all the time.  Not when he was thinking about getting out of this town every second, or when he had the most important piece of his world getting fussy in Perrie’s arms, her expression wrinkling from that indifferent look she gave Liam into a slightly annoyed expression now.

“He seems nice,” Niall notes, pushing off the counter.

Perrie rolls her eyes, pulling Safi back.  “Zayn doesn’t do _nice_.”  Her eyes trace over him, brow furrowing.  “Not anymore, at least.”

Zayn sighs underneath a breath, reaches out when Perrie offers Safi toward him.  He tucks an arm under Safi’s bottom, lets his son grip at the collar of his shirt before rubbing impatiently at his gums.  _Teething_ , Zayn thinks, runs a comforting hand over Safi’s head until he calms a little.  He’s not really thinking about that teething ring, the fact that maybe Safi’s hungry, or those little looks Perrie’s giving him like she’s disappointed.

He keeps watching the door, wondering if maybe Liam’s across the hall thinking about him the way he keeps telling himself he’s not thinking about Liam.

**

Zayn doesn’t have to see or think about Liam for a few days.  Well, not completely.  He doesn’t have any early shifts for a while, which sort of takes away his excuse to be outside of his flat extra early to catch Liam running, not that he doesn’t find a reason to wake up earlier, maybe stroll outside for a fag in hopes of something bright-eyed with a heartwarming smile might be running up to him.  It doesn’t happen.  And he never seems to pass Liam in the hall either, though he runs into Harry more than enough times that Zayn decides that he sort of likes Harry.

He doesn’t mind the fact that Harry comes by almost nightly to hang around with Niall, whom met Harry sometime before Zayn’s night with Liam.  He sits in the armchair in the corner, reading, while Niall and Harry argue over the better Xbox 360 game – Niall’s more Halo, Harry’s more Tomb Raider but, really, they end up spending more time playing FIFA 13 than anything else.  They force Zayn to play Guitar Hero with them because, _“It’s a classic,”_ according to Harry, and Zayn always pretends he’d rather finish reading whichever Harry Potter book he’s picked up or that new mystery novel where he can’t seem to get past chapter three for reasons he can’t comprehend – “It’s because you keep thinking about that chap from across the hall that you refuse to get the balls to talk to, your daft wanker,” Niall tells him more than one time – but he joins them anyway with a grin and kicks Niall’s ass more than he does Harry.

Louis shows up more too, not that it has anything to do with Harry according to Louis, though Zayn knows it sort of does.  He watches Louis fawn over Harry for hours, even trying and failing to cook Harry dinner at their flat which turns into a horrible kitchen incident that leaves pasta sauce sticking to Louis’ hair, spices covering the counters, and Harry helps Zayn clean it all up while Niall orders them Chinese from that little takeaway place down the road.  He listens to Louis gripe about still not fucking Harry, or vice versa, in the mornings when it’s far too bright outside for Zayn to give a shit, but he listens anyway while Louis snuggles up to him in bed.

“I don’t even think he likes me, which I mean, _come on_ ,” Louis says, waving his hands in front of himself dramatically, “Who doesn’t want the Tommo?”

Zayn snorts with an eye roll, shoving Louis’ lightly.  “He likes you, Lou.”

“How can you tell?” Louis asks, eyes narrowed into small slits with a hushed voice.

Zayn shrugs, dragging his fingers through his bed hair.  “It’s the way the guy looks at you.”

“He looks at me like we should be shagging, but we’re _not_.”

“Maybe he’s not like _that_ , yeah?” Zayn offers, rolling to his back before Louis settles back into the bed, resting his head on Zayn’s bare chest.

“But I’m the Tommo,” Louis whispers, rubbing gently at Zayn’s belly.  “Everyone is like _that_ with me.  I’m brilliant in the bed.”

Zayn’s nose wrinkles.  There’s far too many moments where he wishes Louis knew how to control every little word that flies out of his mouth.

“Do you think I should keep trying?” Louis asks, looking up through his lashes with those sad eyes that drive Zayn mad on most occasions.  There’s a tug on Louis’ bottom lip before it’s settling into a frown.

Zayn wants to tell him _‘no’_ because he knows guys like that end up breaking Louis.  It rarely happens because Louis doesn’t get attached, not long enough to establish genuine feelings for anyone, but it’s happened a few times and Zayn hates being the one to clean up that mess.  He hates that he wants to throttle whichever guy decides Louis isn’t good enough for them, for whatever reason, and he hates watching his best mate spend a week being anything other than that little shit from Doncaster that has mischievous bright blue eyes, a wicked grin, and sort of resembles the devil if he took a human form.

Guys like Harry Styles, with their Cherub cheeks, cherry lips, eased in dimples with that husky voice that seeks attention could probably break Louis.  But Zayn doesn’t think Harry would do that.  Not intentionally.

He also doesn’t see Liam because Perrie decides to leave Safi with him for two days, which is nothing new for Zayn.  He loves any chance he has to spend an extended amount of time with Safi, though it doesn’t really happen much because he and Perrie live completely separate lives.  And he doesn’t really spend the entire time with Safi because he takes on a few extra shifts at work to buy Safi some new toys and save up for his birthday gift – a new high-end playpen along with a crib for Zayn’s flat because all he really has is his bed for Safi to lay on when he visits, something Perrie always complains about.  But Niall watches Safi those evenings, Zayn coming home with his feet dragging and head pounding to find Safi and Niall passed out on the couch surrounded by Niall’s text books, empty takeaway boxes and baby food jars, and _Family Guy_ playing on the telly.  He doesn’t really bother Niall, nor give him that disappointed look because _Family Guy_ wasn’t exactly ideal programming for his son to watch no matter how much he and Niall enjoy it, scooping Safi up and pocketing a nearby pacifier before carrying him off to bed.

Louis helps out too, reading to Safi while Zayn cleans or does a little writing – he’s still hoping he can get a gig doing freelance article work for a few of the magazines in London – stopping every few pages to gripe about Harry, or go on about how lovely he is, until Zayn reminds Louis that Safi’s there.  Louis pats Safi’s head, grinning down at him, before sliding into a rather high-pitched voice to finish reading – Zayn’s still not certain _why_ Louis uses that voice though Safi seems to love it.  Louis cuddles up to them on the couch when Zayn rocks Safi to sleep, trying to speak lowly under Zayn’s soft singing, and it’s still about Harry but it sort of drowns out Zayn’s own thoughts about the fact that he hasn’t seen Liam or talked to him, though he could if he just _“marched across the hall and kicked the door down.”_   Again, Louis’, along with Niall’s, ideas were never the most brilliant.  Tactful, but far from brilliant.

He thinks Harry’s the one who tells Louis about that night, though Niall always gets a little quieter when Louis brings Liam up to Zayn.  It’s sort of a one way conversation most times, Louis barking at Zayn for not pursuing Liam, while Zayn turns the page on another book with his glasses on and his hair hidden beneath one of Niall’s snapbacks.  He ignores the way Niall join in sometimes, reminding Zayn that it’s been far too long since his last relationship, but honestly, look where that got him.  He doesn’t put up much of a fight with Louis knowing no one ever wins an argument with Louis but he does glance up when Louis’ voice slides into a sincere tone with words like, _“I just want my best mate to fall in love, have a sex life again, and be happy, you know?”_ that should be anything but sincere from someone like Louis, but they are.

He doesn’t know why Louis even bothers.  Niall either.  Zayn’s not interested in guys like Liam.  Not guys who haul ass after finding out guys like Zayn have a kid.  He was just a one off, something to scratch an itch Zayn had.  He’s quite fine without Liam being around, except he sort of does think about the curve of that smile, those brown eyes, the way Liam’s voice sounded when it wasn’t panting out Zayn’s name.  He’s sorted of fixated on wanting to know more about Liam even though he’s good at flipping Louis off anytime he brings Liam up when Harry’s around.  He admits it is a bit unfair, Liam waking up to meeting Safi and Perrie, the _ex-girlfriend_ of your one off, after one night with Zayn.  And, honestly, if he was Liam, he would’ve done the same.

He sort of hates himself for spending a few too many evenings staring at Liam’s door when he gets home because he shouldn’t give a shit about Liam.  But, fuck, he knows he does.

And it’s night like this, when it’s pouring outside, he has to catch a fucking cab to his flat from work because that prick Louis’ out with Harry catching a film that it all really sticks to his skin.  His feet squish when he walks up the steps, his white button-down clinging to his skin with his hair sticking to his forehead.  He pushes it back, water dripping from his fingers, and he really just wants to get inside his flat and take a shower.  He wants to stop thinking about ways to murder Louis because he could really for forgetting he was supposed to pick Zayn up in favor of being out with that freakishly happy curly-haired boy.

“Shit,” Zayn hisses because he’s pissed, he’s tired, his pack of cigarettes are soaked, and his shirt won’t stop sticking to his chest every time he moves.  He wants to kick the wall but he knows that’ll only hurt his soaked feet and he’s dripping all over the floor as he moves.

Maybe Niall will be home, make him a cup of tea, and promise to help Zayn with any plans he has to hide Louis’ body from all the proper authorities.  He tries to smile at that but it doesn’t do much good when he finally gets to his door.  He remembers Niall’s usually out on Thursday nights, studying at the library or skipping all of the schoolwork to relax at the coffee shop near the edge of town for their open mic night with that nice guy Josh, the drummer Zayn thinks, that Niall introduced he and Louis to the one time he managed to drag them down there.

He searches his trousers for his keys, patting lazily for a moment before he’s moving furiously, patting at places he doesn’t even have _pockets_.  Panic sets in, his eyes impossibly wide as he continues to slap his hands against wet material with no result.  He shuts his eyes tightly, face wincing with his nose crinkling and, _no_ , those weren’t tears at his eyes.  It was the fucking rain that was still slicking his face.

Shit, why did he have friends like Louis and Niall who, who just weren’t here right now when he actually _needed_ them.

He bangs his head against the door a few times, not that it’s going to help any, but he doesn’t know what else to do.  Not when he remembers he’d left his keys sitting in the back of the restaurant while talking to Paul in his office about maybe picking up an extra shift on the weekend so he can cover that last bit of money he needed to buy Safi a new fire truck – Zayn lost the last one a few months ago while watching Safi at Perrie’s flat.

“Fuck,” Zayn grumbles, hand lying flat against his door.  He kicks at it, upper lip curling.  A sigh crosses over his lips before he’s whispering, “I’m _fucked._ ”

“Are you okay?”

Zayn freezes at the voice, his stomach tightening.  This is just perfect, right?  Because Zayn needs this right now, yeah?  He’s dripping wet, leaning heavily on the door to the flat he can’t get into because he doesn’t have his fucking _keys_ , and the sound of Liam’s voice warms his chest in a way he doesn’t fucking _like_.  Not in the least bit.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it,” Liam says and Zayn hates that he can hear the smile in Liam’s voice.

“What’s it to you anyway?” Zayn snaps, still leaning into the door.

“I was trying to help.” Zayn winces, hears the frown in Liam’s tone that makes Zayn feel sick with guilt.

He lets his hand slide down the door, the squeak grating against his ears, turning slowly.  Liam’s leaning in the doorway of his flat, chewing on his lip while looking at the ground.  He looks incredible still with a silly Superman emblem shirt and joggers on, bare feet shifting on the hardwood like they’re probably cold.  There’s no scruff along his chin this time making him look younger, almost sweeter.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn sighs out, dragging his fingers over his damp hair.  When those brown eyes lift, Zayn wishes it was Liam’s thick fingers tangling in his hair instead of his own.

Liam nods slowly, the corners of his mouth pushing up a little.  Shit, Zayn feels his own doing the same.  He can’t help it.

“I forgot my keys,” Zayn explains quietly, leaning back against the door.  “Louis is out with Harry and Niall’s at the library, I think.  And I had a shit day at work, and then – “

“Do you want some tea?” Liam cuts in with a small smile.  It’s welcoming, warming.

“What?”

Liam’s smile tips higher, those eyes turning inviting.  “ _Tea_ , Zayn.  You can come in, wait until Niall gets in or whatever.”

Zayn nods slowly, tries to piece it all together while not fumbling over the way that smile on Liam’s lips strikes him so roughly.  He drags his hand down his face, collecting the remaining rain that’s sticking to his skin and it is a bit cold in the hall and his feet do ache a bit from trying to cover two sections at the restaurant tonight because Marvin didn’t show up for whatever reason.

“I’m all wet,” Zayn says, wishes he didn’t because that was quite obvious from the puddle Zayn’s left on the floor.

Liam snorts, nodding.  “I don’t know if you’ll fit any of my clothes, or Hazza’s, but I’m sure we can find something you can try on.”

Zayn smiles at that, wants to tell Liam he wouldn’t mind just sitting on Liam’s bed naked, maybe with Liam snuggling around him to keep him warm but he pushes those thoughts away.  He’s decided that maybe being Liam’s friend is where he should take this because, really, he’s Zayn’s neighbor.  If things didn’t work out between them, was he going to spend the rest of their time there ignoring Liam?  Maybe pretending to say “hello” when they pass when neither of them would want to see the other if possible?

“Okay,” Zayn finally concedes.

Liam’s face brightens up some at that, pushing off the doorway while holding the door open for Zayn.  He takes a few hesitant steps toward the door, teeth biting into his lip as his shoes squish against the floor.  Liam tilts his head, face brighter than a few dozen strobe lights, and Zayn doesn’t know whether he should do this.  But he can’t just stand in the hall until Niall gets there, or sit on the floor like some homeless person, cursing the day Louis Tomlinson met Harry Styles.

He follows Liam inside, scratching small nails along the back of his neck as he kind of just stands near the door for a moment.  Their flat is set up no different from his and Niall’s.  It’s got a sleeker look to it, probably courtesy Harry, but the furniture looks homely, lived on, probably because of Liam.  There’s a wooden coffee table near the settee, a couch pressed to one of the walls.  The flat screen is in a corner, a collection of DVD’s lined up along either side of it.  The dining table is small, set for four with nice dishware and a tablecloth.  There’s a few photographs scattered on the walls, probably of Harry’s family, a couple of older ones with two blonde girls who look like Liam, another picture that looks like Liam’s parents if Zayn had to guess.

Liam slides his fingers along the back of Zayn’s hand as he passes, grinning quietly with a look that’s so secretive that Zayn guesses he’d have to beg Liam to tell him about it.  He doesn’t mind that at all.  He’s distracted by the way he misses those warm fingers even though they were against his skin for a second, misses Liam walking into the kitchen to place a pot on the stove.

“Your place is nice,” Zayn says with a shrug, looking down at the puddle he’s sort of dripping on the floor.  He makes a face at that.

“Yours is too,” Liam says back, tilted smile on his lips.  Zayn looks up, Liam adding, “From what I saw that morning.  I liked your bed.”

 _I liked you in my bed_ , Zayn thinks, shakes his head because, no, he’s not doing that.

“You should come by to visit more then,” Zayn suggests, tries not to sound harsh but he’s still a bit angry with Liam.

Liam nods, lets his eyes drop away as he pulls two cups from the cupboard.  “Is that an invitation?”

Zayn shrugs again, tries to look indifferent but an anxious “Yes” slips past his lips before he can.

Liam smirks, not in that smug way Zayn’s expecting, but it’s still confident.  Zayn snorts at that, pulls the clinging shirt from his skin again.

“Tea should be ready soon,” Liam announces, dropping two tea bags into the cups he pulled out earlier.  He gives Zayn a look, a small frown pulling at his lips at the way Zayn keeps shifting uncomfortably in his wet clothes.  “I’ll get you something to wear.”

Zayn nods, thankful, stands in that same spot as Liam disappears down the hall.  When he returns with a small pile of clothes in his arm, he leads Zayn back to the bathroom, flicking on the light for Zayn.  Zayn grins at him, watches blush pulse against Liam’s cheeks as he tells Zayn where he can put his wet clothes until later, a hand nervously reaching up to peel a few strands of wet hair from Zayn’s forehead.  Liam’s thumb strokes his temple, Zayn unconsciously nuzzling into that touch and they sort of stand there for a breath too long looking at each other.  Zayn thinks he should kiss Liam, reconsiders it when Liam’s eyes go soft.  He can’t afford to get stuck on this silly bloke again.

“Thanks,” Zayn says briskly, pulling back.

Liam looks startled, nods quickly and his cheeks are red instead of pink this time as he awkwardly steps back.  Zayn smirks at that, wonders if Liam’s always this nervous with guys or if maybe Zayn’s just special.

“Right.  I’ll just be, um, in the other room,” Liam stutters out, head jerking back toward the kitchen.

Zayn nods, brow raised.  He doesn’t get to say much else as Liam quickly rubs a hand over the back of his head, spins and hurries away from the bathroom.  Zayn chuckles lowly, doesn’t deny taking a peek across the hall to try and see into Liam’s room before shutting the bathroom door.

Zayn slips out of all of his wet clothing, leaving it piled on the edge of the tub before sliding into pair of pajama bottoms that he’s fairly sure belong to Harry because they’re a little too small for Liam with Christmas trees all over them and the ends are too long for Zayn, the cotton material nearly covering his toes.  His face scrunches a little, realizing he’s standing in Harry’s bottoms without any boxers on but then he remembers that Harry’s the reason Zayn doesn’t have Louis around to strangle and all of that guilt sinks away.

He slides into a t-shirt that he knows is Liam’s.  It smells like him, that warm scent that Zayn clings to with a bitten bottom lip and a soft feeling running over his senses.  It’s a bit small for Liam, probably from when he was younger, a large faded Batman emblem on it.  He chews on his thumbnail, does his best to fix his hair in the mirror but it sort of just lays there.  He doesn’t know why he bothers – he’s not here to impress Liam.  But, still, he kind of wants to so he combs his fingers through it again and swears at himself in the mirror when it fluffs up a bit, reminding him of the way he looked two years ago when he was younger, less suffocated on the dynamics of life.

He finds Liam sitting on the settee, the two cups of tea steaming in front of him on the coffee table.  Liam’s drumming his fingers on the arm of the settee, humming lowly, staring off into the room with a small smile.  He looks innocent, nothing like that Liam who left Zayn feeling wrecked and satisfied in his bedroom that night.  There’s a sea of angels haloing his cheeks, those almond eyes wondrous, almost a hazelnut color when the lights from the nearby lamps strike them.  His toes are wiggling against the floor, sweats low on his hips, and Zayn just stares at him for a beat, maybe a little longer.

Zayn clears his throat, smirks at the way Liam jumps a little, glancing over his shoulder at Zayn.  Zayn shakes his head, curves around the corner of the settee before settling down on it, the furniture so small that their legs touch, that warmth easing Zayn.  He reaches for a cup of tea, smiling behind the billowing smoke at the way Liam looks at him like he might adore Zayn.  He knows Liam doesn’t, but the thought sizzles against his stomach.

“I didn’t know how you liked your tea,” Liam says as Zayn blows at his, Liam lifting his own cup, “so I made it like my mum makes mine.  Just a little bit of lemon, honey, some caramel cream.”

“Caramel?” Zayn questions, taking a slow sip.  The heat feels brilliant against his tongue, the sweetness a bit different but welcoming.

“Yeah,” Liam grins, rubbing at the back of his neck before taking a slow sip.  “It’s orange spiced.”

Zayn nods, another small slurp and it hits him.  That’s why Liam’s kisses taste so sweet, not that he’d managed to remember what Liam’s kisses tasted like.  Yet, he sort of has, remembers the feel of Liam’s lips, the shape of his tongue, those small bruises Liam’s fingertips left behind on his skin.

“It’s good.”

“Really?” Liam asks with wide eyes, blush settling against his cheeks again.

Zayn nods, grins behind the lip of his cup.  “Yeah.”

“Thanks,” Liam whispers, eyes lowering some to sip on his tea but Zayn catches the amused look on Liam’s face as he cradles the cup in both hands like a kid sipping on hot cocoa.

They sit in silence for a moment, sipping at tea, trying to avoid touching each other though Liam’s knee rubs against Zayn’s when he shifts on the settee, his thigh pressing to Zayn’s.  Zayn’s fingers brush over Liam’s knee when Liam moves again, pulling one leg underneath himself, Zayn’s arm sliding around the back of the settee and Liam leans just a little until Zayn’s arm comes around his shoulders.  Zayn smiles, doesn’t tense up when Liam rests a nervous hand on Zayn’s thigh, fingers drumming that melody from earlier.  Everything about it, the way Liam avoids looking at Zayn though Zayn really wants him to, warms Zayn more than any of that delicious tea does.

“You look good,” Liam says lowly, eyes finally tracing over Zayn.  He waves his hand in front of Zayn, smirking with an embarrassed look clinging to his face.  “Like _this_ , I mean.”

“In your shirt?” Zayn asks, scooting forward a little until more pieces of their skin touches.

Liam shoots him a surprised look, teeth nipping at his bottom lip.  Zayn smiles genuinely, more than a little endeared by Liam’s expression.

“Yeah,” Liam finally says, plucking at the material of the black t-shirt.  “It’s my favorite shirt though it sort of doesn’t fit anymore.”

Zayn grins at the thought that Liam would give Zayn his favorite shirt to wear, thinks about the tight material pulling, stretching along those strong shoulders, thick muscles.  He shifts some, tries to will away the erection those thoughts create.  He tightens his arm around Liam’s shoulders when Liam’s hand reaches up to drag through his still damp hair, smile curling over his lips – _I waited for you. I’m a photograph on your floor that you found in your bedroom. Now you wish you could ignore._

“I like Batman,” Zayn says softly, smile folding up against his lips when Liam leans in, presses their bodies closer together until half of Liam is rested against Zayn.

“I’m a bit of a geek,” Liam confesses and Zayn wants to tell him Harry’s already said as much but he’s far too enamored with the pink settling into Liam’s cheeks, the way his eyes look away again as if he’s ashamed.

“Me too,” Zayn whispers, leaning in close enough that the words brush against Liam’s ear.  “Green Lantern is my favorite.”

Liam tilts his head, biting at his bottom lip with a grin.  “And Superman?”

“Can’t wait for _Man of Steel_ ,” Zayn admits, nose scrunching up a little when Liam’s eyes light up.  “Going to see it the first night it comes out.”

“Me too!” Liam’s grinning painfully bright, eyes large and Zayn really wants to lean in and kiss him now.  He wants to push Liam back, mouthing at Liam’s lips until he kisses out all of that sick cuteness from this boy who keeps Zayn from running away.  He doesn’t, not even when he spots Liam running his tongue over his lips like he’d be okay with Zayn doing just that.

Zayn lets Liam lean his back against Zayn’s chest, tangling their fingers together as Liam talks about _the Dark Knight Rises,_ the latest comics he picked up from that bookstore in the city that’s got rows of thousands of books Zayn wouldn’t mind sitting on the floor and reading for hours.  He talks about his parents, his sisters, how awkward he was in secondary school – Zayn doesn’t imagine Liam’s changed that much.  He drags a hand over the top of Liam’s head as Liam goes on about Harry, their friendship, getting Harry a job at that old record store his uncle owns.  He listens intently as Liam talks about wanting to be a firefighter, leaving University to help take care of his family until Harry asked him to move out with Harry.  He nods along, Liam’s fingertips tickling his palm while they talk about _the Avengers_ and the X-Men films.

Zayn grins when Liam tips his head back to chat about playing rugby, running cross country in junior school – _All my desperate words fall_ – stroking his thumb down Liam’s round cheek.  He pulls Liam a little closer when Liam talks about only having one kidney – “It wasn’t so bad, really, all of the early mornings for shots and the pain,” Liam whispers deathly low until Zayn’s petting his chin and kissing his forehead.

Liam looks up at the ceiling when talking about his father losing his job, his mum taking on a teaching job and a waitressing job some nights at a local diner just to pay bills.  There’s a solemnness that Zayn empathizes with when Liam talks about quitting Uni because he knows his parents couldn’t afford to help with tuition – “I’ll go back someday I suppose,” he admits lowly – knows he owes them more than they’ll ever owe him.  He strokes fingertips over Liam’s forearm when Liam goes quiet, thoughtful, mouths _“See, you’re brave just like Batman”_ against Liam’s temple and he hates the way his heart beats a little faster when Liam smiles, eyes still on the ceiling but Zayn knows that smile is definitely for him.

Zayn goes on about his love for reading, writing when Liam stays quiet for too long.  He confesses his desire to get away, move to London to be a writer though he’s certain he won’t make it.  Liam frowns at that, argues otherwise but Zayn wonders if maybe part of that frown comes from the idea of Zayn leaving before they truly get to know each other.  He chats softly about reading to Safi, about how smart he thinks his son will be, something Liam smirks at, rubbing Zayn’s thigh through the thin material of Harry’s pajama pants until Zayn’s certain there’s something catching fire down there.

He tells Liam a little bit about his sisters, not his parents, feels it all ease out so easily when Liam sits up a little to listen to him – _So run for your life now. Maybe you won’t, you wanna stay here._   He chats about Waliyha, his younger sister who’s incredibly smart, funny in a way Zayn wishes he could be, cheeky like Zayn thinks Harry is but she’s far too brilliant at it for her age.  He goes on about Safaa, about the way he wishes one day he can tell his sister about her nephew whose name she helped inspire.  He tenses at that, looking away with his teeth sinking into his lip until he’s certain he leaves behind marks – _We need to get out, the going is good._

Liam buries his head in the crook of Zayn’s neck, rubbing circles into Zayn’s inner thigh, listening as Zayn talks a bit about Louis, Niall, Eleanor, the way their friendships work.  He grins against Zayn’s skin, tells him how his and Harry’s friendship works something like that and Zayn smirks at that.  He strokes his thumb under Liam’s chin, tells him about hiding away in the corner of his bedroom when he was younger with a flashlight, the lights off, reading Green Lantern comics.  He wanted to be Kyle Rayner, an artist who fell upon some good luck, smiling down as he turned the comic book pages and wishing he knew how to be that important.

“You are,” Liam whispers, head lifting some and his lips slip against Zayn’s jaw as he speaks.  “For Safi, you _are_.”

Zayn nods, lashes resting against his cheek as he looks down at Liam.  He doesn’t hesitate this time – _I’ve waited for you. I’m the letter that you never sent. I’m just a shot at forgiveness_ – angles his head just enough before leaning in to press his lips against Liam’s.  Liam buries fingers in his hair, pulls him in and Zayn smiles at that, kisses slowly along Liam’s parted lips.

He feels Liam’s tentativeness, the way he sort of fumbles through the kiss until Zayn steadies his fingers along Liam’s chin, licking at Liam’s bottom lip before whispering, “It’s okay.  Just do what you’re feeling.”

Liam pulls back some, tongue licking over his lips while looking into Zayn’s eyes.  He nods slowly, leaning in to press his forehead to Zayn’s, watching the way Zayn mimics his movements with his mouth, grinning.  He inches in, Zayn curling itching fingers behind his head to keep him in place and their lips slide wetly together again.

Liam moans into the kiss first, pulling at Zayn’s, no, _Liam’s_ shirt, pressing fingers into Zayn’s chest.  He threads fingers into Zayn’s hair, rough tug that has Zayn smirking against Liam’s lips, gasping when Liam rolls his tongue over the roof of Zayn’s mouth.  He grips at Liam’s shoulder, tries to drag him even closer with his lips curling around Liam’s tongue to suck on it, smiling when Liam pushes him back some and they’re tangling together on the small expanse of the settee.

Their noses bump as the angles change, hands moving everywhere, Liam half on top of Zayn while grinding down onto Zayn.  Zayn’s hands are desperate, pulling at Liam’s shirt, raking small nails over the back of his neck – _You made your move, now it’s mine again. Can I give you something to believe in_? – lips feeling swollen from the pressure of Liam’s.  And Liam, he moves like magic this time, sliding over Zayn, fingers on his jaw, thumb sweeping over his cheek.  He’s beauty in motion, kisses alternating between painfully hard to soft ones where his tongue licks at Zayn’s teeth, lips kissing at Zayn’s chapped bottom lip.  Calloused fingers dig underneath the shirt, roam over Zayn’s stomach, even a little lower when Zayn pushes his erection up against Liam’s thigh.

They smile at each other through a kiss – _We gotta turn off the lights, we gotta run for the woods now_ – Liam’s hands drift slowly over his hips, lips leave wet stains over Zayn’s.  Liam gives a soft tug on his hair again, dragging him up with a kiss, Zayn’s heart thudding loudly against his chest.

He wasn’t supposed to be doing this.  Not with Liam.  But he can’t stop himself, chewing on his bottom lip when Liam rubs his nose gently against that spot just beneath his chin, lips fastening over his Adam’s apple.  He’s rubbing smooth hands over Liam’s back, wants the shirt off, wants to remember how great that skin feels beneath his fingertips.  He knows he shouldn’t, biting down hard on his lip when Liam slides his teeth over the tendons in his neck.

“This okay?” Liam asks.  Zayn wishes he didn’t.

“Yes,” Zayn whispers, his voice choked.

“I’ve been thinking about you every day,” Liam admits, smiling against Zayn’s neck.

Zayn sighs softly, nods.  “Me too.  All the fucking time.”

“I’m sorry I,” Liam pauses, presses a firm kiss against Zayn’s collarbone.  “I didn’t mean to leave like that that morning.”

Zayn sinks his teeth into his lip.  He kind of hates Liam right now.  All gentle touches, healing kisses, words that aren’t supposed to bury themselves into his mind the way they did.  Maybe he should run before this boy completely takes him apart.  The idea alone doesn’t settle well inside of him.

“’s okay,” Zayn mumbles, fingers grazing over the prickly hairs on Liam’s head.  He tilts his head back, doesn’t want to watch Liam though he feels Liam slip further away.

“No, it’s not,” Liam insists, fingers on Zayn’s thighs now, pushing them apart.  “I was a little, no, I was _loads_ freaked because – “

“Because of Saf,” Zayn sighs, slouching back against the settee.  He _expected_ this, really he did.

“No, no, _not_ Safi,” Liam says briskly, pinching at Zayn’s thighs until Zayn tucks his chin, looks down into those weary brown eyes.  “I saw Perrie and, well, I figured she was… I didn’t want to be that guy who came between you two.”

Zayn huffs out a laugh, curves his fingers over Liam’s cheek, the softness of his lips.

He leans down, brushes a quick kiss over Liam’s lips, holding Liam’s face between his hands before whispering, “That’s over, mate.  Has been since before Safi was even born.  There’s nothing there.”

Liam nods and Zayn hopes the look he gives Liam is promising enough.  That fear slowly seeps out of those eyes, Zayn inching in for one more kiss before falling back against the settee again, eyebrow arching as Liam slowly sinks down to the floor between Zayn’s spread legs, rubbing nervously at Zayn’s knees.  Zayn swallows, tries not to tip upside down with the way Liam’s chewing at his bottom lip, amber glow around him and Zayn wants to drag him back up, kiss away those nerves.

He doesn’t need Liam to do this, to do any of this really.  Liam doesn’t owe Zayn an explanation, doesn’t need to be so comforting, so fucking kind to Zayn.  He’s done fine without it, doesn’t know how to miss it but he’s learning too quickly with Liam being around.

Liam has him drowning in quiet anticipation – _So run for your life now_ – the way his throat moves when he swallows, that birthmark Zayn wants to pepper kisses against shifting, those large hands that sort of alternate between rubbing at Zayn’s thighs and gripping them, shifting Zayn’s legs wider.  He’s sitting on his haunches, licking at pink lips that are a bit red from kissing Zayn.  He’s blinking up at Zayn, nodding like he’s saying something but he’s not.  Zayn reads it through his eyes though – _You and I, we lie awake at night._

“I want to suck you,” Liam says and it almost sounds like a question, hands moving a little more impatiently as he looks up through his lashes at Zayn.

“Okay,” Zayn says slowly, nodding.  His fingers dig into the cushion of the settee.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

“I don’t know if I’m any good because I’ve only done it a couple of times,” Liam says shyly, ducking his head a little and it’s all too adorable for Zayn right then.

Zayn nods, doesn’t imagine Liam could do _anything_ bad.

“Just do what you like, Liam,” Zayn says back, fingers curling deeper into that cushion.

Liam nods this time, hands finally racing up Zayn’s thighs, pulling at the waistband of those silly and way too long pajama pants.  He’s tugging carefully, pulling the fabric back just enough that it doesn’t catch on the head of Zayn’s cock, eyes impossibly wide when he finally looks at Zayn’s prick in the light.  Zayn feels fevered blush kissing at his cheeks, breathing more than a little uneven.  He’s far from wounded when Liam licks at his lips at the way the head is flushed red, clear liquid pooled at the tip.  He has to reach out, pinch at Liam’s shoulder to gather Liam’s attention again, grinning foolishly when pink highlights Liam’s cheeks.

Liam drags the pants all the way down, a pool of cotton around Zayn’s feet, fingers rubbing at Zayn’s calves, tickling up the hairs on the inside of Zayn’s thighs.  Zayn’s cock jumps in anticipation, his eyes rolling back with his head tipping backward when Liam runs a smooth palm up the underside.  He grabs at Liam’s shoulder, rubs at it to keep his balance even though it’s Liam who should worry about things like that.  His heart is somewhere lumped in his throat, his pulse uneven – _I waited for this_ – and Liam’s breathing warm breath right along his cock, never doing more than just that.  It frustrates Zayn, coils around a moan when Liam brushes his lips lightly over the vein, right underneath the crown.

Zayn makes a sound, somewhere at the back of his throat, when Liam licks out hesitantly.  He fists his fingers into his own hair, teeth biting down too hard on his lip to hold in that moan.  Liam startles a little, Zayn quickly running shaking fingers along Liam’s cheek in a comforting manner, eyes too far lidded to offer much encouragement – _Run away, run away, run away but don’t go._   He merely slides a foot along Liam’s leg, warming strokes of his fingertips along Liam’s jaw until Liam’s sinking forward again.

Liam’s a natural, or highly experienced; Zayn can’t decide.  He just knows the way Liam’s lips curl around the head, the way his tongue strokes that hard flesh, the way he takes Zayn just far enough where he thinks he’ll touch the back of Liam’s throat before Liam pulls back, makes him crazy.  His breaths come out in chopped gasps.  He’s sucking on his bottom lip rather than biting, rubbing his fingers along Liam’s scalp, small encouraging noises breaking through his lips every few seconds.  Liam’s stroking him when he can’t go far enough, his other hand petting Zayn’s jumping thigh, everything on Zayn pulsating and beating along to the dramatic rhythm of his heart.

There’s a flow of rain outside beating on the building, Zayn’s moan caught at the bottom of his throat.  His head thrashes from side to side, fingers pinching at the back of Liam’s neck now because Liam’s sinking deeper, more confident licks when he pulls back.  He’s breathing hot breath along Zayn’s wet cock when he pulls off, smiling with spit-slicked swollen lips.  His skin is cool and hot at the same time, the rain finally drying but Liam’s sweaty palms leave a thick trail of moisture behind.  His fingers tickle at Zayn’s balls, Zayn tensing up then, gutted groan breaking through and mingling with the sounds of thunder outside.

Liam pushes the shirt Zayn’s wearing up, bunching the material to rub along Zayn’s stomach, feel the way it dips and tightens when Liam takes Zayn almost all the way in.  Liam’s mouth is wet, hot like the flame from his lighter right against skin.  Everything is a hiccupping stutter, pressure building and then cascading down when Liam pulls back, lips closed as he rubs Zayn’s prick over them.  He gasps loudly, Liam, not Zayn, licks his tongue out to scoop off precome the head.  Zayn doesn’t know why he even bothered to watch that because it has him so desperate now to come on Liam’s tongue just to see if he’ll swallow.

“You’re brilliant,” Zayn gasps out when Liam’s mouth curves around his cock.

“Am I?” Liam teases, tonguing the slit.

Zayn groans roughly, pulls at the back of Liam’s head until he sinks further in and Liam can’t quite smile smugly around his cock like Zayn knows he wants to.  He’s on the edge, can’t think of anything but those dark eyes, those soft lips, Liam sucking his dick.  It builds like tension in his spine, cracking him on the inside, fingers pinching nervously at Liam’s shoulder because he keeps hollowing his cheeks in that way that makes Zayn shiver.

Zayn’s wearing the flow of sweat, sex, debauchery like a badge of honor.  His eyes keep fluttering shut every time Liam moans around the head of his cock, catching the way Liam’s palming himself for a moment through his sweats.  He wants to drag Liam up, jerk him off until he bites on his own bottom lip while coming, making Liam drop back down to finish Zayn off with his throat.  He settles for rubbing at Liam’s cheek, pupils blown when Liam looks up at him through his lashes with a thick amount of adoration.

Stupid, _stupid_ boy that Zayn thinks he could fall for.

“Come on Liam,” Zayn finally groans, nodding to where Liam’s hand is stroking himself through those joggers.  “You look incredible.”

Liam moans lowly, eyes shifting shut and his mouth drips lower, tongue flicking over the head of Zayn’s cock.  He slides Zayn’s cock over the roof of his mouth and, yeah, fuck, that feels _amazing_.  He spreads his legs further, thinks about asking Liam to fuck him instead.  It sends a shock right down his stomach, that build becoming too much now.  He’s a mess, a bloody fucking mess with Liam kissing at the head of his cock – _But just know I will be two steps ahead_.

Liam’s tongue feels rough against his balls, his hand still peeling Zayn apart with that slick grip it has while pulling on Zayn’s dick.  The sound is echoing off the walls, off Zayn’s ears and he thinks he can hear it over his heavy breathing but just barely.  His hips thrust up, trying to gain more friction, legs lifting some and he wonders if Liam’s thinking about shifting a finger inside him, pulling him over the edge like that.

Fuck, he needs Liam to want him like that.

His back arches, hips held down by Liam’s arm, everything going white, white, bright blue and sparks.  Liam’s stroking him, whispering, “I think about you all the time.  Like this.  In my bed.  In the morning, maybe at night.  What fuck have you done to me, Zayn?”

Zayn’s breath hitches, a strangled whine breaks through, thick come slickly Liam’s fingers, the back of his hand.  He keeps narrowed eyes on Liam, Liam’s eyes glancing down as he strokes Zayn through it before they lift, stare darkly into Zayn’s.  Zayn shudders, can’t grab the oxygen he needs.  He wants to look away, desperately needs to, but he can’t because Liam’s holding him there with those eyes.

Liam pulls off before Zayn gets too sensitive, stands with a grin and his cock tenting his sweats.  Zayn can’t put words together, wants to offer Liam assistance but Liam’s waving him off with a smile, head shaking before he ducks out of the room toward the bathroom.

Zayn’s boneless, still panting heavily when Liam returns with a warm washcloth, cleaning Zayn off all while pressing comforting kisses against Zayn’s cheek and jaw.  Zayn drags him in for a kiss, feels he needs to offer Liam something in the form of gratitude.

Liam moans against his lips, pushing against Zayn’s chest to escape the kiss with a smirk.  He wipes spit away from Zayn’s lips with the pad of his thumb, pulling up those silly pajama bottoms and Zayn can barely lift his hips to help him but he does.

“It was good, yeah?” Liam asks, his voice painfully shy.

Zayn snorts, nods.  “You could write a fucking book on how to give a blowjob.”

Liam’s eyes go wide, punches at Zayn’s shoulder with scarlet shredding his cheeks.  He ducks his head, nibbling at his bottom lip, rubbing his fingers just beneath Zayn’s lip.

“You’ll stay a bit longer?” Liam requests, head leaning in until his forehead rests against Zayn’s, inching in for a kiss.  “We could watch a film?”

Zayn grins, tucks his hand behind Liam’s neck to pull him in for another kiss, a second one just because Zayn wants to remember every taste he licks off of Liam’s lips.  He lets Liam smooth out the shirt he’s wearing, that faded Batman emblem looking positively breathtaking under Liam’s thick fingers.

“Popcorn too?” Zayn offers, hoping Liam gets that as a yes though he’s not sure when Liam’s brow raises.

Liam finally nods, tries to but it doesn’t really work with them this close, but Zayn accepts that.  He settles into the cushions of the settee for a moment, lets Liam press against them until they’re chest to chest, staring at each other with nothing but the rain clinking off the roof creating the soundtrack they need.

He thinks maybe he should’ve gotten out sooner, maybe waited for Niall outside of their door in soaking wet clothing with his head hanging low.  He wouldn’t be so warm now, so ready for forget Liam was supposed to be a one off, a simple fuck because he can’t afford to get involved.  Not when he wants to run away, not when Liam’s his neighbor, not when he has Safi who Zayn can’t afford to ruin.  He can’t let himself get caught up in Liam, hope that maybe Liam will fall in love with Safi the way Zayn did the moment his son was born, hope that Liam will stick around long enough for Safi to learn Liam’s touch, his scent, the way he smiles when he’s happy.

Liam crawls a little further up, ignoring the way Zayn quirks his eyebrow, tries to discourage Liam – _You and I, we lie awake at night_.  Liam rests his lips against Zayn’s, pressing a little too firmly for someone who’s supposed to be just a fuck.  And, _fuck_ , Zayn thinks he’s probably more than that now anyways.

**

“How in the bloody fuck did you manage to land a date with your neighbor before I could?”

Zayn grins nervously at Louis from the bathroom mirror, fiddling with the collar of his shirt and, honestly, he thinks he should just slide back into that _Dark Side of the Moon_ Pink Floyd t-shirt with a pair of jeans and trainers but Louis made him change _three_ times already.  Louis’ made a fuss over his hair – _“Honestly, Zayn, must you always think you’re too cool for your own shit with that quiff?”_ – but Zayn’s not letting Louis come anywhere near his head with his hair product and a brush.  He honestly wishes Louis would shut it because he’s nervous enough on his own, let alone without the help of his best mate picking out everything he doesn’t like about Zayn – “Oh, please don’t put on that _awful_ cologne that smells like something out of a hip hop video.”

Zayn’s not really sure how he even got to this point, but Louis reminds him every five minutes of it until Zayn threatens to shove that brush up Louis’ arse.  He still catches Louis mumbling under his breath, something about hating Zayn’s guts, and Zayn merely smiles into the mirror, runs his fingers lightly over his hair before deciding he likes the way it looks.

He probably shouldn’t have answered the door that day but he honestly thought it was Louis stopping by to do, well, _whatever_ it is Louis did at his flat while he read or sat in the corner writing.  It wasn’t Louis though, it was Liam, sweat slicking his forehead with a t-shirt clinging to his skin and a water bottle at his lips.  Niall nearly burnt the toast he was making – Zayn’s decided Niall is no longer allowed in the kitchen after that incident – trying to peek around the corner to watch them like they’re some wild animals in nature show on the telly.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Zayn said back, teeth instinctively biting at his bottom lip until Liam’s licking out a smile.

It had been a week since Zayn spent more than just a few hours lingering around in Liam’s flat while the rain pounded outside.  He figured Harry catching them asleep on the settee, Liam’s head on Zayn’s chest while Zayn cradled him, was enough for Liam to stay away for more than a few days and Zayn was busy enough with work, trying to settle Louis’ frustration over still not even getting at least a _kiss_ from Harry, Niall’s begging for help with one of his writing classes, and spending what little time he had left at Perrie’s flat with Safi not to even notice Liam’s disappearance.  Not that he didn’t feel it at night, when he was alone, wishing he didn’t want the scent of Liam’s skin against his sheets again.

“I was wondering,” Liam starts but the clattering of pans as Niall tries to lean too far into the living area stops him for a second.

Zayn sighs, flipping Niall off without looking at him while keeping steady eyes on Liam.

“You were saying,” Zayn says flatly, irritation gripping because he can hear Louis’ whistling as he comes up the steps, the way Niall’s giggling from the kitchen.

Liam looks around nervously, chewing at his bottom lip and Zayn tries to mask his impatience with it all.  But then there’s a flickering smile passing over Liam’s lips, leaning in the doorway as he gives Zayn a once over.

“I want to take you out,” Liam tells him, head cocking sideways.  Zayn’s brow lifts immediately before Liam’s clarifying, “On a date.  You and me.  I want to take you out on a date.”

“On a _date_ ,” Zayn repeats lowly, his brow knitting together this time.

Liam nods happily, confidence showing in his smile.  Zayn snorts at it, pushes the snapback on his head further back.  And this feels so much like secondary school, Liam fumbling a little as he asks someone out to the school dance or something.  Zayn’s a little tickled by it if he’s being honest.

“Just you and me?” Zayn wonders warily, catches Louis smirking as he comes up behind Liam.

Liam nods quickly, brow lowering.  His confidence is waning, Zayn can tell, and Louis’ easing between them, throwing an arm around Zayn’s shoulder.

“He’d _love_ to,” Louis says before Zayn can, his nose wrinkled with glee as Liam smiles softly.

“ _We’d_ love for him to,” Niall adds loudly, Zayn thinking about chucking one of Niall’s old trainers that’s lying sideways on the floor by the door at his head.

“Okay,” Liam says slowly, shoulders lifting.  His cheeks are pushing up higher, Zayn waiting on that grin, chews on his own smile when it appears.

“I’ll leave you two to work out the details,” Louis insists, nudging Zayn’s hip with his own when he slinks his arm off of Zayn’s shoulders.

Zayn exhales unevenly, nodding at Liam who’s all aching-grins and bright eyes like the world’s suddenly been handed to him without him doing anything.  Zayn definitely sort of hates Niall and Louis in the best kind of way.

“I thought you and Harry were working out?  You’ve been out, like, a _dozen_ times with him in the past two weeks,” Zayn says, smoothing his hands down the white shirt until the wrinkles stop puckering, fiddling with the tight sleeves.

“Yeah and he hasn’t kissed me yet.  Or tried to shag me though I’ve dropped more than enough hints,” Louis whines, falling back on Zayn’s bed.

Zayn doesn’t doubt that.  Zayn’s almost certain Louis has done everything, including dropping to his knees in front of Harry with his mouth hanging wide open, to make it apparent to Harry that he was interested.  Zayn muses at that, face wrinkling before he’s pushing the thought out of his head.

“Maybe he’s not interested?” Zayn offers up, peeking into his bedroom where Louis’ kicking his feet in the air like a petulant child.

Louis pops up at that, scowl forming.  “We’ve been over this, Zee.  No one turns down the Tommo.”

Zayn nods, eyes rolling.  “Right.  You’re fucking irresistible.”

“Would you like to find out?”

Zayn makes a face at that, head shaking before he’s slipping back into the bathroom.

“Not on your _best_ day.”

“Not on your _worst_ day,” Louis snaps back, tossing one of Zayn’s abandoned shirts into the hall.

“Rule thirty-two Mr. Tomlinson: No throwing flatmate’s wardrobe unless he or she has shagged a potential shag of said flatmate,” Niall declares, swooping by with a grin and a textbook in hand.

Zayn snorts, shoving Niall playfully when he pops his head into the bathroom.  He knows Niall watches far too much _Big Bang Theory_ , probably has his own set of rules and a Roommate Contract stowed away in his bedside table, but Zayn never plans to find out.  He fiddles with his hair once more, missing that thick blonde streak he let Louis paint into the front of his hair last summer.  He sorts out that not all of Louis’ Tomlinson’s ideas were the worst.  Just the ones Louis figures out on his own.

“I don’t know what it is about that head of curls, those damn eyes, his stupid dimples,” Louis gripes, falling back on the bed again.

“It’s the _dimples_ ,” Niall and Zayn say together, snickering as Louis flips them both off.

Zayn tugs at the black jeans that are sliding off of his thin hips, plays with the material of his shirt once more before sliding into the leather jacket he’s had hanging on the knob of the door.  He chances another look in the mirror, not that he’s vain though Niall, Louis and almost anyone who knows him would argue differently, but he thinks he wants to look good for Liam.  He’s not entirely sure though he knows the way his palms have been sweating, the fact that he took a longer shower than usual to wash away the grime from his earlier shift at the restaurant might indicate otherwise.

“Zayn,” Louis calls out lovingly as Zayn slips out of the bathroom, not before spritzing on just a bit of cologne, and Zayn knows that tone almost anywhere – _Louis wants something_.

“No, you can’t invite Harry along on my date,” Zayn sighs out, peeking into his room.

“Ha, you finally called it a _date_ ,” Niall teases, brushing past Zayn before leaping onto the bed, nearly crashing on top of Louis who punches him in the side for good measure.

“Of course it’s a date, you prick.  Zayn just won’t admit to us he’s a bit hung up on that dopey, incredibly fit lad across the hall,” Louis grins out, Niall crawling until he can rest his head in Louis’ lap.

“Is that true Zayn?” Niall asks with far too much sweetness in his voice.

Zayn rolls his eyes, thinks about just walking out.  Of course he doesn’t like Liam like _that_.  Zayn doesn’t get hung up on people, not even Perrie.

“What do you want Lou?” Zayn finally breathes out, upper lip curling at the way Louis bats his lashes at Zayn.  _Shit_ , he wants something massive.

“Do me a favor, yeah?” Louis requests, waits a beat while Zayn shifts from foot to foot in the hall.  “Ask that devastatingly gorgeous bloke you’re courting tonight if there’s something I can do to get Harry in my bed.”

Zayn gapes at Louis, Niall chuckling far too loudly from Louis’ lap with his hands trying to cover his red face.  Louis’ merely blinking at Zayn like he hasn’t said anything in the least bit shocking.  Fucking Louis Tomlinson.

“No,” Zayn says flatly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Why not?” Louis scoffs, arms folded over his chest.

“Because,” Zayn starts and then stops.  He doesn’t need a fucking reason.

“Prick,” Louis mumbles, running his fingers through Niall’s thick blonde hair.

“Bastard,” Zayn calls back, spinning on his heels.

“Need I remind you that Uncle Lou is going to be the next one you call to watch Safi when you have to pick up another extra shift at work later this week?”

Zayn stops at that, nose wrinkling, shoulders going immovably stiff.  He narrows his eyes, jaw flexing before Louis adds, “And a certain someone named Perrie might not be too keen on the father of her son working all weekend rather than spending time with his insanely adorable son whom I will still be adopting whenever I decide someone is worthy of my heart.”

“Which is _never_ , right Lucifer?” Zayn hears Niall’s tease, snorts at it.  He hears the smack that follows and a thump, wonders how long it took Niall to roll off the bed to the floor.

Zayn takes a few steps back, tilting his head to look into the room where Louis has Niall on the floor in a headlock, dragging his knuckles over Niall’s head.  Zayn shakes his head, watches them tussle around until Louis thumps into Zayn’s bed and Niall loses a shoe somewhere.

“Just that one thing, yeah?” Zayn finally asks, pulling at the collar of his jacket.  It’s one of those deep brown, almost black ones, that Zayn had to save over a month’s worth of tips just to get but it’s his favorite so none of that really matters.

Louis looks up, his face red but those blue eyes are brilliantly bright and glassy like diamonds.  He tumbles out a smile, smacking Niall’s leg when Niall shoves a sock-covered foot into Louis’ side.  _Kids_ , Zayn thinks with a smirk.

“Maybe you could – “

“That _one_ thing, yeah Lou?” Zayn tells him instead of asking, eyes narrowed again.

Louis sighs dramatically, nodding enthusiastically until Zayn’s turning the corner again, trying to ignore the snarl from Louis, the thump against the wall, and he really hopes he didn’t hear Louis say, “Oi, you little Irish bastard.  No biting down _there_!”

Zayn agrees to meet Liam at wherever it is they’re having dinner because Liam has to work late at the record shop for his uncle and he doesn’t want Zayn to have to wait.  Zayn tries not to admit that that’s sweet of Liam, might’ve mentioned it to Niall who laughs at Zayn, patting his back roughly – “Oi, you’ve got it in for this guy, Zayn.” – but Zayn ignores him like he does Louis.  He hates that Liam has to change at the record shop though, considers asking Liam to reschedule or call the whole thing off, especially when Zayn arrives at the restaurant.

It’s not a place Zayn’s bother to pay attention to though he’s heard Louis talk about it a few times.  He wants to ring Louis up, beg him to come rescue Zayn because, no, Liam couldn’t want to take him _here_.  He looks in the window where the guests are wearing nicer clothes than what he has on, sipping on pretty colored drinks while laughing, looking every bit of posh and nothing like the sort of people Zayn would associate himself with.  It’s some place fancy with cloth table settings, a fancy wait staff, bottles of wine, and things Zayn can’t really afford, not that he would because he’d rather spend that money on spoiling Safi.  But then he hears someone clearing their throat from behind him, his face wincing when he spins on his heels because it’s Liam.

He looks incredible Zayn decides.  He’s cut his hair down a little more again, perfectly round cheeks pushed up into a smile and those brown eyes are crinkling right at the edge again.  He’s got on a black button-down, a black waistcoat over it with black trousers that sort of hang off his hips like Zayn’s did.  Those white Nike trainers stand out brilliantly against Liam’s clothes, pink a nice added color to Liam’s cheeks when he notices Zayn checking him out.  He’s dressed for a place like this, unlike Zayn, except Liam’s got his sleeves bunched up around his elbows.  Zayn wants to reach out, trace his fingers over those thick black arrows on the underside of Liam’s forearm, not that he hasn’t touched them before but he knows it’s the one thing that’ll remind him this is just Liam.  Undeniably fit Liam, but still _Liam_.

“You don’t like the place,” Liam tells him, lips tugging down a little.

Zayn shakes his head quickly, doesn’t like the way that frown is starting to fit against Liam’s soft lips.

“It’s just that,” Zayn looks over himself, scuffs his Nike’s along the sidewalk, chin tucked.  “I’m not really suited for a place like this, you know?  I didn’t know you wanted to go somewhere so… _nice_.”

Liam nods, grins a little.  “You’re perfect for any place babe.”

Fucking hell, the way his heart thumps at that, it all feels so _cliché_.  Zayn will have to explain his annoyance with things like that to Liam one day.

“And I don’t know, with Saf, that I can afford to eat,” Zayn starts, eyes lowered because, shit, this is _embarrassing_.  He has pride, probably way too much, and telling Liam this makes him feel like rubbish.  And he’s not that; never wants to be.

Liam slides a finger under Zayn’s chin, lifts it and when did Liam get this close to him?

“It’s my treat,” Liam whispers.  He must spot the way Zayn grimaces like he’s offended because he’s quickly adding, “No, _I_ invited _you_ out, Zayn.  I asked you out.  I think it’s traditional that the asker pays for the person he asks out.  Or something like that.”

Zayn chuckles at the way Liam stumbles on his words, cheeks flushed when Liam’s lips tip into a bright smile.  He chews on his thumbnail, Liam’s forefinger still tucked under his chin and, he admits to himself, that he wouldn’t be terribly angry if Liam pressed a kiss to his lips in this moment.

“So we’re still doing this, yeah?” Liam wonders, head leaning to the side and Zayn scoots a little closer, kicking shyness away.

“This date, right?” Zayn asks, words a little lidded under the way he keeps watching Liam lick at his lips.

Liam nods coyly, his finger stroking Zayn’s chin now, scraping against the scruff there.

“ _Our_ date,” Liam notes, snorting when Zayn rolls his eyes.

Zayn grins with him, nodding.  He should’ve had a cigarette, or _three_ , before meeting Liam here but he didn’t want to smell like tobacco and, well, maybe he is doing a bit much to impress Liam, yeah?

When the hostess seats them, making eyes at Liam like she’s thinking about asking him out later, Zayn grabs Liam’s hand in front of her, grinning when she smiles nervously back, nodding before inching away.  Liam chuckles beneath his breath, fucking pulls out Zayn’s chair for him, and Zayn’s already distressed because Liam actually made reservations for them to eat here and now he’s being a _gentleman_.  Zayn doesn’t fuck gentlemen, not that he’s stuck around long enough to find out if any of them were.  But this wasn’t just a fuck anymore, was it?

He feels more than a little uncomfortable when he eases out of his leather jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair and his brow scrunches, lip curling at more than a few glances he gets from some of the other guests.  Liam reaches across the table, pass the salt and pepper shakers, over Zayn’s menu, until he grabs at Zayn’s hand, pulling it toward him.  Zayn watches, tan skin like the glow from the sunshine over Zayn’s gold skin, a complex mixture of sun and sand.

“You’re perfect,” Liam whispers so low Zayn has to lean in to hear.

“’m _not_ ,” Zayn scoffs back, head shaking.

Liam groans lowly, pulling back but his fingers rub over the back of Zayn’s.  “Take a compliment.”

“Shove off,” Zayn teases, slouching back in his seat but he strains just to keep Liam’s fingers on his skin.

“You’re quite the little shit,” Liam remarks with a grin, unfolding his menu while Zayn looks around, watches candles being lit on tables, lights being dimmed, the music playing overhead going softer but still recognizable.

“No, your mate Harry is for stringing Lou along,” Zayn says nonchalantly, watching a tray of lobster and artfully decorated plates pass by.  Liam’s fingers go still on Zayn’s skin, Zayn wishing he could’ve taken that back.

“Harry’s not playing with Louis,” Liam insists with a furrowed brow.  His fingers draw back some but stay close enough that the tips press against Zayn’s nails.  “He likes Louis, loads.  Talks about him all the time.  But Harry doesn’t just screw around with guys.  Girls, maybe, but not guys.”

Zayn nods, eyes flitting to Liam’s hand, watching for resistance when Zayn flips his hand over so those calloused tips are rubbing against the pads of Zayn’s fingers.  Liam stays, Zayn biting back a smile.

“Harry’s always sort of known he’d end up with a guy after a while so he doesn’t make it all about sex.  He wants a guarantee someone is going to stick around,” Liam explains, eyes running over the menu rather than Zayn.  Zayn wishes he would lift them, let the candlelight dance over those irises until Zayn can pick out the honey specs in those brown eyes.

“Are you the same way?” Zayn asks, pushing his fingers up until Liam pushes back.  Liam’s eyes lift, Zayn grinning before adding, “About relationships, I mean because, well, obviously,” Zayn makes a hand motion that Liam struggles to understand until Zayn waggles his eyebrows.

“ _Oh_ ,” Liam gasps, cheeks coloring like cherry wine.  “I don’t usually do _that_ , you know.”

“I figured,” Zayn says with a shrug, spots the way Liam gives him an incredulous look but he knows better.  Liam’s too nice for that kind of stuff.

“I want something meaningful.  Everyone does, right?”

Zayn doesn’t.  Doesn’t think it exists after Perrie and the others.  But he nods anyway to appease Liam, finally glancing down at his own menu.

Liam’s hand drops away when the waiter comes, Zayn missing that burn against his fingertips before drawing his hand back to run over the menu, face wincing at all the fancy names of the dishes and he has to read a couple of the descriptions to establish what the hell most of it is.  He doesn’t hear what Liam orders before it’s his turn and he’s just rambling something off before slapping the menu shut, grinning hesitantly at Liam who’s gleaming in that charming way that Zayn’s really starting to despise.

They talk over Coke and wine, Liam smirking around his straw while Zayn does his best not to sip the wine too fast.  It’s better than the shit Louis buys, probably way more expensive too, and Zayn’s a little lightheaded after the first glass.  He giggles when Liam rubs at his knee under the table, slipping his hand beneath and they’re tangling their fingers beneath that fancy tablecloth while Liam goes on about a few more comics he picked up the other day, going on about how Zayn should read the _Blackest Night_ graphic novel and Zayn plans to, honestly, but he can’t help imaging reading it to Liam with Liam’s head in his lap on one of those warm summer days where you want nothing more but to lay around shirtless with the air conditioner on the lowest temperature.

Zayn talks about Safi getting his first two teeth when the waiter drops off a basket of bread to them.  Liam smiles at him though it all, nodding along as Zayn talks fast and with that excited tone he reserves only for Louis when something enthuses him.  He sips at another glass of wine, listens to Liam talk about working two jobs, being at the record store a few nights out of the week, more of his time invested into coaching a summer rugby program at the junior school he attended as a kid.  Zayn nods along, sparked smile on his lips when Liam’s eyes glimmer almost gold when talking about all the kids he works with.  They go on about how ridiculous Harry and Louis are sometimes, both complaining about how they take up every conversation and the couch when together and Zayn feels Liam’s fingers tighten around his when Zayn grins.

“I always wanted to get married,” Liam tells him when the waiter drops off some beautiful chicken dish with rice in front of Liam and a bowl of steaming pasta in front of Zayn.

Zayn has to admit the pasta is delicious, but he’d still prefer they were at that loud Indian restaurant a few blocks from their flats so he could enjoy something spicy while Liam ran shivering touches over his thigh.

“And kids of my own one day too,” Liam adds, cutting up his chicken before shoveling it into his mouth.

Zayn blinks at him, nodding along.  Zayn thinks he wanted the same before Safi came along.  He’s certain all he wants is Safi now and he’s fine with that.  He spoons up more pasta as Liam smirks at him, the light of the candle haloing soft yellows over his face.  Zayn doesn’t think Liam would actually want Safi to be _his_ , probably never imagined having a child other than one he’d create with some beautiful girl with white picket fences, a gorgeous house, two car garage, and Zayn spends the rest of the conversation with his eyes in his pasta rather than looking at Liam.

They turn down dessert and Liam settles the check, waving Zayn off when he offers to pay half even though Zayn’s certain he probably couldn’t afford it.  Still, he doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.  His parents taught him a long time ago how to do that and he’s had to ever since Safi was born and his baba told him, _“If you have a son of your own then it’s time you get out of our house to take care of him.”_ But Liam’s all gentle smiles, helping Zayn back into his jacket and Zayn curses under his breath when Liam reaches back to hold his hand when they pass by that hostess, her eyes incredibly large with her mouth hanging open.  Zayn barks out a laugh at that, snuggling up to Liam because, yeah, Liam was his for that brief moment.

Liam drives them back in Harry’s car, the music on low but Liam’s humming along – _You gave up and I lost track. When you love someone, you don’t look back. It don’t matter who’s at fault_.  Zayn recognizes it, remembers Louis humming in the other night while they laid around watching Inception with Niall who was completely lost through the first half of the film.  He nods his head along, grins when Liam ducks his head a little.

“Sorry.  Hazza sort of has me hooked on them,” Liam confesses, a light rose coloring his cheeks this time.

Zayn bites at his bottom lip, smirks before humming along – _I won’t forget your touch; I’m saying too much._

Zayn settles into the seat of the old car, the click and pop of the axle every time Liam hits a corner doesn’t bother him as much when Liam slides a hand into his lap, rubs at his thigh.  He looks out the window, the street lights spinning neon colors against the purple sky.  He doesn’t want to ask Liam anything, not about Safi, about his plans for the future, whether or not Zayn was included in them.  He doesn’t want to know if this thing Liam is doing with men is temporary until he decides to find a wife, a family of his own.  Because, yeah, what would Liam do with a family like Zayn and Safi?  They’re probably already too broken for Liam anyways.

Liam clears his throat when they come around their street – _A better life is waiting_ – Zayn’s fingers finally settling between the spaces between Liam’s.  Liam slows the car, doesn’t make it close enough to the building before he almost stops.

“What you were asking about before,” Liam says coolly, head tipping back with his eyes on the road.

Zayn quirks his brow, fingers stiffening between Liam’s warm ones.

“Yeah?”

“I _do_ want a relationship,” Liam admits, his voice softening.  He glances toward Zayn with a solemn expression.  “That’s how I am.  I don’t do what we did but, with you, it felt like it was okay.  But I won’t lie, I’m not that guy.  I’m not good at casual, Zayn.  Haz is, but I’m not.”

Zayn nods, chewing at the corner of his lip.  He blinks at Liam, watches Liam’s expression go blank – _And what is done is done; piece together what’s been broken._

Liam smiles a little, rolls his head back until he’s looking at the road again.

“You don’t have to keep me around if your life is complicated enough already.  I know, from what you _don’t_ say, things aren’t exactly the way you want them to be and I know Safi is your number one priority,” Liam explains, his voice going a bit uneven before it cracks, “but I’d like to have a chance when you’re ready to let someone new in your life.  I’m not willing to be some one-off, someone to do, but when you’re ready…”

Zayn catches the way Liam’s voice drifts off, the music filling in the gaps – _Can you ever give up someone?_   He swallows back a sigh, wants to break down all the barriers he’s fixed so wonderfully around himself.  He wonders how many of those Liam’s put up too, the way he’s indifferent so suddenly as he continues to watch the street, the way the lights creating dancing shadows over the pavement.

“I had an amazing night,” Zayn finally says, pushing out a smirk when Liam’s head lolls in his direction, expanding grin already spreading over those lips.

“Me too.”

Zayn nods, offers him a small shrug.  “I wouldn’t mind if it happened again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Liam’s smile tips his cheeks higher, finger closing around Zayn’s.  He’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, watching Zayn for longer than Zayn’s comfortable with but he doesn’t shift nervously.  He sits there, staring back at Liam, wondering how long before he’s asking to wake up to those chocolate eyes every morning.

“I think it’s traditional to give your date a kiss goodnight,” Liam says, his voice a little choked even though Zayn can tell Liam’s trying to play it cool.

Zayn snorts, sideways smirk smacking his lips.  “You’re shitting me.”

Liam shakes his head, fumbled grin on his lips.  “It’s in the rulebook,” he insists, tongue running over his lips – _All this fire in my veins from a heart that’s trapped in my ribcage. Burning through my fingertips. Burning everything I kissed._

Zayn rolls his eyes, reaches forward to pop the top button of Liam’s shirt before hissing, “Just c’mere already babe.”

Liam’s eyes go a little wide before Zayn’s closing the gap, Liam leaning with him until their lips slot together, mouths opening naturally for tongues and sweet tastes of wine and Coke.  Zayn lets Liam keep it chaste, grinning around Liam’s mouth as Liam guides Zayn’s chin up.

“When you’re ready,” Liam whispers against Zayn’s lips, eyes half-lidded, “let me know.”

Zayn blinks at him, lets Liam press another kiss to his lips before pulling back.  He’s unsettled, a flickering in his heart saying to trust Liam but, _no_ , he can’t do that.  He can’t trust everyone, not just because they’re good with smiles and taking him on dates and making promises that can be broken.  Zayn knows, he’s done it.  He’s watched Perrie broken, watched his mum shed tears of regret, watched his own world collapse in on itself.  How could Liam be any different?

He sighs, getting out of the car before Liam can with his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, head low as Harry passes him with a smile in the hall.  He’s inside his flat, rushes past Niall and Louis who are slouching on the couch with tubs of ice cream and _Pretty Woman_ playing in the background, ignoring their calls for him.  He slams his door shut, leans against it.

He can’t depend on Liam he decides.  He’s too good for him, probably too good for anyone.  He swallows thickly, eyes slipping shut – _I’m saying too much_ – before he shrugs out of his leather jacket and falls face first into his bed.

He feels sick and, _fuck_ , he wishes Liam was there to rub circles into his back and help Zayn understand the meaning of trust again.

**

Zayn’s not upset with Perrie, well, not entirely.  He’s not expecting her that night, one where he’s worked two hours extra at the restaurant to get a few more quid in tips for Safi’s birthday, though he knows he still has plenty of time for that, but it’s early August and he’s fucking knackered, okay?  And she’s standing there, hands on her hips while Safi crawls on the blanket – _“That had better be a_ clean _quilt Zayn and not something Niall wanks off into.”_ – Zayn’s set up on the floor for him, surrounded by toys from his baby bag and Zayn can’t bite back the grin on his lips when Safi squeals at that new fire truck he’s bought him.  He blinks down at the stuffed Dalmatian nearby with the fireman’s hat on, the one Liam bought when Louis blurted out where Zayn was headed one morning when Liam returned from his jog.  He reminded Louis exactly _eight_ times that night how much he hated him while Louis unwrapped the gift for Safi, grinning all the while.

“You’re leaving him _here?_   Tonight?” Zayn asks, his voice sliding way past frustration when she nods instantly.

“He’s yours tonight,” Perrie orders, foot nudging at Safi to keep him from crawling off the blanket.

“Why?”

Perrie’s brow dips, eyes squinting and he knows that’s not exactly the brightest thing he’s done but, come on, he’s _exhausted_ and when has she ever shown up without telling him first?

Perrie sighs, bending down to yank a pacifier from Safi’s bag before gentling it between his lips to quiet his whining.  He sits back, looking up at Zayn with sad eyes and Zayn’s fingers itch to pick him up, comfort him but Perrie’s still glaring at him and, shit, he drags his fingers through his hair instead.

“It’s Jade’s birthday.  The girls and I are going down to a pub in the city to celebrate,” Perrie hisses, blue fingernails clicking against her metal belt.  She tosses her freshly blue-dyed hair backward, lips crinkling into a pout.

“Celebrate on the fucking weekend like normal people,” Zayn groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“I told you about swearing in front of our son,” Perrie warns, finger raised.

“And you don’t?” Zayn questions, an eyebrow lifting.

Perrie rolls her eyes, clicking her heels against his hardwood floor.  She’s probably leaving a dent but he doesn’t really give a shit.  He just wants his bed.

“I’m going.  There’s some sort of paying open mic night and we figure we can win it all,” Perrie sighs out, lips twisting when Zayn balks at her.

“The singing thing, _again?_ ” Zayn asks, his face falling.

“Fuck off,” Perrie mumbles and Zayn eyes her, shaking his head dismissively when she waves a hand in front of him.  “Like you’re doing anything great for Saf with your writing thing.”

“At least I’m trying to do something that has promise,” Zayn snaps, winces when Safi’s head immediately turns in his direction with his brow crumpling.  He winks down at Safi, does his best to appease him with a soft smile.  Those big iris-hued eyes look away, focus on the sounds of the fire truck.

Perrie laughs at him, dragging her heel along the floor this time.  “Honestly, Zayn, come on.  Writing is _not_ promising.”

“It’s _something._ ”

“Yeah,” Perrie says with another sigh, shoulders slumping forward a little.  She drags her fingers through her knotted locks, glances down to Safi with a fragile sadness.

“He’s _your_ son,” Perrie notes in that condescending voice Zayn hates.

“I know.”

“Good.  Then spend time with him tonight,” Perrie argues, arms folding over her chest.  “What else do you have to do?”

 _Nothing really_ , he thinks, _none of your fucking business_ , he wants to tell her but his mouth snaps shut.  He can feel Safi’s eyes watching him again, the way he’s pulling at his hair, itching for a cigarette but he already knows how Perrie feels about him smoking, let alone smoking when Safi is around.  Safi’s lips spread into a smile around that pacifier when Zayn glances down at him, the ache right along his chest leaving him breathless.

Zayn lets his eyes shift shut, nose scrunching at the scent of Perrie’s perfume as she passes by.  He doesn’t hate her, not as much as he hates himself, but she knows where to go to hurt him most.  It’s a stupid game they played long ago, even though she uses it to her advantage far more than he does.  And he can hear that song she used to sing all through Tenth Year in the back of his head – _Tomorrow’s just another day. Another way to spend my day all by myself._

“Two bottles in the fridge along with his food.  He’s been rather cranky lately, probably teething again, and he hasn’t really been sleeping through the night,” Perrie tells him but he’s not sure he’s listening – _Staring at the TV screen, flipping through my magazine. Everything is unclear._   She’s dragging her nails over the surface of the counter, across the fuzzy pieces of his mind.

“I’ll get him first thing in the morning.  No later than noon,” she adds, sauntering by him again and he wishes she’d stop wearing that painfully sweet scent.  The makeup too, though he doesn’t tell her.

Zayn shakes his head, eyes flickering open to look at Safi who’s crawling happily around after his toys.  He rubs at the back of his neck, lips twisting a little sideways when Safi pushes back into a sitting position to toy with the stuffed Dalmatian.  He barely acknowledges her when she walks toward the door – _I need to break out, get me some take out. Stand inside a crowd; I wanna scream aloud that I’ll be okay_ – his upper lip twitching when she doesn’t bother to give Safi a kiss goodbye.  He thinks maybe it’s because Safi is actually sort of attached to Perrie, not that he puts up much a fight when he’s left with Zayn.  He _clings_ to Zayn, he _trusts_ Perrie.

He wishes Niall hadn’t gathered his stuff up the moment Perrie walked in, slipping out the door before it could even shut.  He wishes Louis would answer his calls, stop by unannounced like he does so well.  He bites at his lip when he wishes Liam was there, sitting in a corner of the couch and putting on silly voices for Safi to laugh at.  He shakes his head quickly, finding a seat on the floor with Safi before pulling the unfinished book he left on the coffee table a few days ago toward him, cracking it open while Safi plays with some musical book Perrie’s mum bought him.

It’s not that he needs Louis and Niall around, but he sort of does.  It’s rare that it’s just him and Safi, Louis usually dotting over Safi like he’s gold while Niall pretends to study for a while before devoting hours to Safi.  Sometimes, with a grin, Zayn thinks Saf is on the level Niall looks for in companionship.  They help Zayn with _everything_ – feeding Safi, giving him a bath, changing his diaper even though Louis usually completely freaks before running from the room while Niall just holds his nose and instructs Zayn on what to do next.  And it’s not that Zayn didn’t help take care of Waliyha and Safaa when they were this young, but it was more his mum and baba doing it with Zayn looking on.

He lets his eyes slip shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, and all the words in that silly book have sort of melded together every time he looks at that same page he’s been reading for nearly half an hour.  Safi keeps looking up at him curiously, blinking those long lashes, lips curling into a smile when Zayn carefully taps the end of his nose.  Zayn smiles down at the giggle that pushes Safi’s pacifier from his lips, nearly doesn’t hear that echoing sound of angels over the thudding music in the hall.

“Christ,” Zayn hisses, the bass rattling someone’s door out there and Zayn catches the way Safi’s lips frown.  “It’s okay Saf.”

Zayn bites at his lower lip, leans down to press a kiss to Safi’s forehead before pushing himself up.  He really hopes he doesn’t have to fucking throttle someone for not respecting their neighbors, something he hasn’t done since leaving Bradford.  The people around here were always considerate, incredibly nice and quiet and Zayn probably didn’t know half of his neighbors for reasons like that.  He watches Safi try to follow him, crawling behind Zayn’s bare feet and Zayn fights with a grin, shakes his head at his son.

“No Saf,” Zayn says firmly, watching Safi halt with that frown edging against his lips again.  “No stay right here.  Baba will be right back.”

Safi flops back onto his bottom, hands in his lap with big eyes staring up at Zayn.  _Fuck_ , he thinks, whomever the hell this was is going to feel _all_ of his frustration.

When Zayn pulls open his door, his eyes grow as broad as Safi’s.  He expects to glance to his right, maybe that one door to his left where he’s almost certain some elderly lady lives with at least five cats.  His eyes narrow when that thudding bass, the rattling treble comes from the door across the hall.  He scratches at the back of his head, doesn’t recall Harry and Louis’, well, _whatever it was_ , going bad recently.  Not enough for Harry to find a need to blast something oddly familiar, like that one band Niall sometimes listens to while studying – _Your sword’s grown old and rusty, burnt beneath the rising sun. It’s locked up like a trophy, forgetting all the things it’s done._

Zayn sighs when laughter cracks through the door, furniture being shifted, howling and, fuck, it’s a _party_.  Zayn doesn’t hate parties, not completely, but he’s never been a fan of ones that weren’t held at some secluded location that didn’t aggravate neighbors or, say, the local police.  He’s been to enough with Anthony and Danny, down on the other side of town where there’s plenty of woods, farms for secondary and Uni kids to park their cars and light up long stretches of fields with their headlights and silly rock songs.

He glances over his shoulder to where Safi’s slapping his hands over his book, trying to get it to make more noises other than cows mooing and chickens clucking, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth when he turns back toward Harry’s flat.  He spots silly colored lights dancing underneath the door, could probably smell the scent of alcohol and cheap weed without trying.  He rubs at the nape of his neck some more, thinks he could call Louis and get him to tell Harry to quiet the fuck down, but really, it’s too much.  His head throbs, his eyes are more than a little heavy now, and he knows he’ll never be able to get Safi to settle down if the noise persists.

Zayn groans when he takes those few steps across the hall, leaving his door open to glance back at Safi.  He shakes his head when he hears girls giggling, knuckles rattling loudly against the door – _When I was seventeen, I had wrists like steel and I felt complete_ – foot tapping impatiently against the ground.  There’s another loud, manic laughter and Zayn has to inhale deeply before knocking a little harder, louder this time.

“Oi, I hope someone ordered some more pizza.  Who’s going out to grab some crisps?” Harry calls out when the door swings open, dazed grin on his lips with slightly red eyes and his curls are pushed completely back.  His dimples flare up, eyes widening when he looks on Zayn.

“Malik,” Harry calls out with a laugh, throwing a hand onto Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn shrugs it away, lips pressed tightly together.  “ _Harry_.”

“Oi, my mum calls me Harry when I’m in trouble,” Harry laughs out and Zayn can tell he’s had one too many beers.  “Call me Hazza.  Liam does.”

Zayn inhales deeply before exhaling out, “Harry.”

Harry blinks at him, teeth running over the edge of those cherry lips and Zayn’s narrowing his eyes – _I see it in your eyes but now you’re giving up the gun._ He crosses his arms, Harry rubbing idly at his curls until they tangle around his fingers, lips smoothing sideways on his face.  Zayn steps aside a little, lets Harry peek past him to where Safi is seated on the floor, shaking that silly Dalmatian.

“ _Oh._ ”

“Having a party?”

Harry rubs at his neck this time, offering Zayn a small nod.  “Just a little housewarming.  We didn’t get to have a proper one when we first moved in and I thought, why the fuck not, right?”

Harry throws a hand over his mouth immediately, grimacing until Zayn’s waving a hand at him dismissively.  He’s more than certain Uncle Louis has used enough foul language around Safi to cover the rest of them until Safi turns twelve – _I see you shining your way, go on, go on_.

Zayn’s brow lifts when the music shifts abruptly, something sounding vaguely like Carly Rae Jepsen filling the speakers and there’s a couple of groans from inside before a decisively loud voice calls back, “Shut it.  This party needs a little life.”

Zayn wrinkles his brow immediately, fingers curling into fists.  He catches the way Harry’s eyes grow even larger with sudden flashes of fear.  Zayn clears his throat until Harry’s backing away from the door with his hands raised in defense.  He thinks Harry mouths _“I’m sorry”_ but, sod it all, he doesn’t give a shit what Harry wants to say, not when that voice fills his ears – _I wanna smash your fears and get drunken off your tears. Don’t you share your smile with anyone else but me_ – and he knows the song all too well because Louis’ spent far too many mornings singing it loudly while driving Zayn through town.

He feels his lips tremble with anger, eyes growing even smaller as he squints at Louis dancing on that wooden coffee table with a bottle of vodka raised, a few girls Zayn recognizes from the University campus dancing around the table.  Niall’s in the corner whispering into the ear of another girl – _Cher_ , he thinks – with an arm curled around her hunched shoulders.  And he can hear Louis’ slurred voice mingling with hers – _We’re not lovers, but more than friends. Put a flame to every single word you ever said._

Niall lets out a particularly girlish yelp when his lidded blue eyes look on Zayn, tensing up around Cher while Louis dances around some more, head thrown back.  There’s far too many people crowded into the flat for anyone to really notice him and he doesn’t suspect Louis ever will with those thick sunglasses pulled over his eyes, hair tugged everywhere – probably from Harry’s long fingers – and he pops off his suspenders with a joyful howl, tipping the bottle back to take another bitter taste – _I’ll keep dancing ‘til the morning with somebody new._

“Lou,” Niall calls out, tugging on one of those impossibly tight legs of Louis’ green trousers.

“Ni, don’t be rude.  Carly is on,” Louis calls out, shaking Niall off of him.

“Zayn,” Niall says loudly, eyes pleading before he looks on Zayn again.  Zayn’s face scrunches up with frustration.

“Zayn Malik, right, right.  I think he hates my beloved Carly,” Louis sighs out before taking another gulp of the alcohol, grinning toward Harry where he’s still backed into the corner near the door – _Tonight I’m getting over you._

“I loathe Taylor too,” Zayn says, his voice reaching above the sound of the music and Louis’ nearly tipping back, Niall catching him as he loses his balance on the coffee table.

“Oi, Zee – “

“Don’t call me that,” Zayn demands, his voice dropping lower when eyes fall on him.

“Louis made me come,” Niall says quickly while Louis shrugs out of his grip.

“Fucking hell Horan,” Louis groans, steadying himself on the ground though he doesn’t do much of a good job at it in his condition.  He pushes the sunglasses up onto his forehead, his blue eyes glazed over and Zayn can sniff the vodka seeping through his skin.  He wrinkles his nose at that, the way Louis does when Zayn’s smoked more than one cigarette in a day.

“I wanted to invite you but you and Liam haven’t really spoken since your, uh, not-date,” _Right, Liam_ , he thinks, “and it’s fucking bullshit, really Zee, the way you avoid the kid,” Louis rattles out, capping the bottle of vodka before passing it to another Uni kid, _Andy_ , Zayn thinks this time.

“I don’t _avoid_ him,” Zayn hisses, fingers still balled into fists.

“Well whatever it is you two are doing, I felt it would be wrong to tell you to come along,” Louis sighs out, waving his hands around in that dramatic fashion that accompanies Louis having too much to drink.

“Saf is across the hall,” Zayn says sternly, eyes still narrowed.

“Right and think of precious Safi.  My poor, poor, sweet and adorable nephew,” Louis prattles on, hands still moving.

“Lou, I think he’s saying Safi is _here_ ,” Niall declares, tugging at Louis’ shoulder.

“Well, of course the fuck he is, Ni.  That cunt Perr wouldn’t dare take him out of town without Zayn’s consent,” Louis slurs, dazed expression ruling his face as he looks at Niall.

Niall slaps his forehead, Zayn seething before he’s turning, marching past Harry and out the door.

“I’m sorry Zayn,” Harry says softly, leaning in the doorway again.

Zayn doesn’t bother to turn around, only tightens his jaw before saying over his shoulder, “Just keep the fucking music a little lower, ‘kay?”

He catches Harry nodding, apologetic eyes not enough to settle the anger in Zayn’s stomach.  He kicks his door shut, winces when Safi jumps with fear, clutching a little too tightly onto that silly stuffed dog.  He swallows thickly, Safi’s eyes welling up before Zayn can get close enough to him to calm him.  And there’s nothing but muffled Jay-Z – _I’ve got ninety-nine problems and a bitch ain’t one, hit me_ – and the sound of Safi’s whimpering cries filling his flat.

Zayn scoops Safi up, sighs when Safi pulls at his hair while tears soak those Cherub cheeks, mouth wide enough to see those two teeth at the bottom.  He cradles the back of Safi’s head with his hand, gently pushes him down until Safi’s tears wet his, no, _Liam’s_ shirt that he may or may not have stolen after that night in the rain.  Not that Liam’s asked Zayn about it, nor has Zayn willingly given it up because it still sort of smells like Liam, more so Zayn now, and he likes the way the fabric feels against his skin.

He doesn’t blame Harry, really.  He walks around his flat, rocking Safi in his arms but he won’t settle, crying into Zayn’s chest.  He could’ve tried to make things work with Liam.  He could’ve called, answer a few of the calls Liam made to him instead of thumbing the phone off to Louis or rolling away from the vibrating device.  And Harry, he merely looked at Zayn with contempt when they passed in the hall, disappointment when Harry came over to play Halo with Niall.  But Zayn couldn’t, didn’t have the nerve to explain that to anyone but Louis and Louis shook his head at him, patting Zayn’s shoulder before saying, “And so you’re going to hate yourself forever for one relationship creating the best part of your life?”

There’s a quiet knock at the door Zayn almost doesn’t hear over the sounds of Safi, lips brushing gently over the top of Safi’s head while humming lowly.  He feels the whimpers dry up a little, Safi still clinging tightly to his shirt and he has to take in a deep breath, eyes shifting closed.  Fuck, why does he still want Niall and Louis here?

He doesn’t hope it’s one of them on the other side, well he does, but he’s not saying that out loud.  His feet pound over the hardwood, still rocking Safi but he releases his son’s head to pull the door open, breathing kicking back as Safi sighs out a quiet exhale.

Liam’s standing there, rubbing at his shoulder through his gray t-shirt, head tilting a little and he looks more than a little sheepish when Zayn’s eyes get a bit wide.  Safi’s turning in his arms, looking up at Liam, eyes a painfully beautiful golden lilac when the light of the hall reflects off of them.  Liam smiles down at him, reaching out to rub at Safi’s arm until those once loud whimpers settle into quiet sniffles.  Zayn watches, fascinated because Safi, though incredibly happy, rarely let new people touch him.  Zayn wonders if he was the same as a child, lips frowning because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to ask his mum if he and Safi are anything alike.

Liam looks back up at Zayn with a small frown, catching the way Zayn pulls back some, cradling Safi’s back for support.  He blinks at Zayn with a blank expression for a moment, the rattle of something sounding unfamiliar coming from the door that’s closed across the hall.

“Do you want some help?” Liam offers, his own bare feet squeaking against the hardwood floor of the hall as he drags them across it.

“I can take care of my son,” Zayn snaps, hates the way Liam’s lips turn to a frown, brow furrowing in disappointment.

“Not with him,” Liam says lowly, reaching up and Zayn tries not to jerk back when Liam’s fingers brush over his forehead, push strands of Zayn’s fringe back from his skin.

Zayn sighs lowly, feels himself cracking just that easily.  He curls into the touch, brow wrinkling when Liam’s lips warm into a smile, gentle but calloused fingers running over Zayn’s temple, carding through his hair.  Safi’s reaching up with a grin, tugging at the sleeve of Liam’s shirt and everything inside of Zayn gets hot, fevered, expanding joy he can’t define.

“Do you want to come in?” Zayn asks, teeth curving over his bottom lip.

Liam lifts his brow, grins down at Safi before stroking a thumb over Safi’s nose, his pushed up cheeks.

“Do _you_ want me to?”

Zayn chews on his lips, considers the notion before quickly nodding.  “Yes, please.”

Zayn eases backward, lets Liam cross the threshold and they stand there for a moment, Zayn blinking at Liam, Liam grinning at him, Safi sharing looks between them before whimpering.  Zayn snaps out of his daze, adjusts Safi in his arm before nudging the door closed.  Liam only backs away a little for the door to shut, edging close to them again until Zayn can feel the warmth radiating off of him, that amber glow still so radiant.

“Can I hold him?” Liam asks, hands already lifting.

Zayn feels hesitance grip him only for a second, nodding slowly.  He takes a step closer, his toes pressing coldly over Liam’s before Liam’s smiling quietly at Safi, cradling him in while Zayn reluctantly releases him.

“He’s teething and he’s probably tired.  Haven’t fed him or,” Zayn stops, drags his fingers through his hair with a long sigh because, fuck, he doesn’t know what to say.

Liam’s nodding, letting Safi curl fingers around Liam’s thumb before he’s gently easing it against Safi’s gums, rubbing smoothly until Safi’s fussing subsides.  Liam smirks down at Safi, rocking slowly with a gentle dip in his knees as Safi’s fingers tighten around Liam’s thumb, eyes lightening with thick eyebrows lifting.

Zayn can’t help him, the way he stares.  He’s not in awe, he tells himself that.  But Safi curls to Liam almost naturally, grinning when Liam makes quiet helicopter noises, dipping in close to press a soft kiss on the end of Safi’s nose, laughing when he pulls back to the sound of Safi’s giggling.  And Liam stays so close to Zayn, gives him a few looks to let Zayn know he’s still in control, he can take Safi from Liam whenever he wants.

Zayn doesn’t want to.  He doesn’t want to forget the way Liam looks with Zayn’s son in his arms.

“Think maybe we should bathe him and then give him a bottle?” Liam suggests, shifting a little until he cups the back of Safi’s head while cradling his bottom on that strong forearm.

“You want to help with that?” Zayn asks curiously, head cocking to the side.

Liam snorts, lifts his eyes from Safi but he’s humming lowly to calm Safi – _Oh what lengths we go to push the past away._

“I can stay, if you’d like,” Liam offers with a small shrug, blinking at Zayn.  “Or I can go.”

“Stay,” Zayn says quickly, reaching out and his fingers glide over the hair on Liam’s forearm, lets them shift behind to thumb along those thick arrows inked into tan skin.

Liam gentles a smile over his lips, easing a little closer until Safi’s coddled between their chests, sincerity glitzing over Liam’s eyes.  Zayn hates the way it tugs on him – _How many drops can you squeeze out to explain what happened one day?_ – the way his fingers won’t leave Liam’s skin, the way his son is so calm in Liam’s arms, his heart thrumming like fingertips on guitar strings every time Liam’s features soften.

“I want to stay,” Liam whispers, rocking Safi a little slower.  “I want you to want me to stay.”

Zayn swallows, tries not to let the way Liam’s looking at him suffocate him completely.  He thinks about walking away, knows he needs to because Liam’s waiting on a response.  He’s waiting on Zayn to let him in and, no, Zayn knows better.  He can’t let Liam win him over like this.  Not with Safi right here, in his arms, clinging to that stupid shirt, eyes dancing between Zayn and Liam’s faces.

“I think,” Zayn swallows again, eyes watching the way Liam’s mouth quirks into an inquisitive expression, “We should start his bath.”

There’s a roll of disappointment that touches Liam’s face for a beat, falls away when Liam forces out a grin, nodding.

“Here, you take him to the loo,” Liam insists, lifting Safi before easing him back into Zayn’s arms.

Zayn gentles Safi into his arms before tensing up, fear frolicking around the rim of his eyes when Liam backs up, reaches back for the doorknob.  He sort of hates himself for denying Liam, again, for letting his breath catch instead of begging Liam not to leave.  But then there’s something warm in Liam’s eyes – _It still shortens my breath as I turn to say_ – his other hand reaching up to rub softly against Zayn’s shoulder.

“I’ll be back,” Liam says quietly, pulling the door open.  “Just need to grab something.”

Zayn nods.  He believes Liam, something he doesn’t quite understand because wasn’t he just telling Liam in a not so loud way to leave his life a week ago?  But he’s letting Liam back away, a small wave at Safi before giving Zayn a reassured look that Zayn clings to the way Safi is clinging to Liam’s shirt, the one Zayn’s wearing like a second skin.  He watches the door close, feels unsettled for far too long, watching to see if Liam will walk back through.

He feels pathetic after a beat, sighing lowly as Safi starts to fidget in his arms again.  He shakes his head, spins on his heels before marching away from that stupid door with the stupid boy with the stupid smile that Zayn sort of loves.

**

The water is fairly warm as Safi splashes around with his silly rubber duck that Louis bought because, well, _“No kid should live without a rubber duck for bath time,”_ Louis insisted months ago when he bought it.

Zayn hasn’t been peeking outside of the bathroom every few seconds to see if Liam was going to return, though he kind of was.  It hadn’t been that long – _ten minutes?_ – and Zayn really could do this, give his son a bath.  A grin strokes his mouth when Safi looks up with bright gold-lavender eyes, smiling helplessly at Zayn as Zayn carefully drags his hand through the water to create waves around Safi.  He cups his hand in the water, pulling up what he can before gently pouring it over Safi’s head to wash away some of the suds from the shampoo.  He muses his fingers over that russet brown hair and he doesn’t mean to, not completely, but he styles it up into a small quiff that he snorts at while Safi pushes his yellow duck around.

“He looks happy.”

Zayn hates the way his lips automatically quirk up at the sound of Liam’s voice.  He peeks over his shoulder, cheeks straining to contain that smile while Liam leans in the doorway, holding up a bottle of something while trading glances between Zayn and Safi.  Zayn pushes wet fingers through his thick hair, pushing back falling strands that paint inky streaks over his forehead while Safi splatters his hands happily on the surface of the water when he sees Liam.  That was _not_ a fuzzy, butterfly-like feeling in his stomach.  Fucking clichés and liking guys like Liam.

Liam pads his bare feet into the almost too-small bathroom, crouching down on the tiled floor next to Zayn, knees pressed against the tiles that Zayn should probably have swept or at least put a towel down for Liam before he squatted but Liam doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s dipping a hand into the water, swirling it in front of Safi as the ten month old watches with brilliantly still fascination.  Liam chews on his bottom lip – _Stop thinking about kissing him_ , he thinks – before flicking some of the water up, a small cascading waterfall streaking into the air and splashing on Safi’s shoulder.  Safi jumps a little with excitement and Liam tries not to fall on his haunches with laughter.

A crowded blush washes Zayn’s cheeks when Liam looks up at him, his hand dipping back into the water to link his pinky with Zayn’s, shrugging when Zayn’s eyes grow a little wide.  Zayn doesn’t pull away, but he turns his eyes on Safi because, yeah, this artfully handsome lad was doing too many wonderful things in Zayn’s stomach for his liking.

Liam’s squeezing whatever purple contents are in that bottle he brought in earlier into the bathwater, humming quietly before swirling his hand into the water, creating bubbles all around Safi.  Safi’s eyes get a little bigger at the foam surrounding him, nervous hand reaching up to fluff through the clouds of suds.

“Lavender body wash,” Liam grins out, still stirring a hand in the water while staying linked with Zayn’s finger.  “Nicked it from Harry.  The guy loves this stuff for some reason.”

Zayn nods along, smiles over a bitten bottom lip as Safi cautiously blows at the bubbles, the foam breezing into the air.  He always wondered why Harry smelled so sweet, so flowery.  He bets that Louis would love to know something like this, probably catalogue it to impress Harry with some sort of birthday or Christmas gift consisting of lavender body wash, shampoo, conditioner, flavored lube and condoms – another Louis Tomlinson idea, no doubt.

“They say the scent helps to put kid’s to sleep,” Liam adds with a small shrug, snickering when Safi swats at some of the flying bubbles circling him.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Liam says softly, eyes still on Safi but Zayn’s tucking a frown behind his teeth as he looks at Liam.  He wonders if this moment will haunt him when he tries to sleep later, Safi curled next to him, Liam too many paces away in his own flat.

Zayn nods at Liam instead of speaking – _It plays out like a lifetime before the morning light_ – rubs a soothing hand over Safi’s back as Liam creates a pile of fluffed up bubbles on Safi’s head.  Zayn smirks, pushing gently at the rubber duck until it floats in front of Safi, his son cooing and snatching the toy up.

Liam’s humming quietly again, rubbing at his chin and Zayn snorts, carefully reaching out to wipe away the suds Liam’s fingers leave behind.  He strokes his thumb along Liam’s chin when Liam’s head jerks in his direction, eyes a bit darker, needier than Zayn’s expecting.  Zayn feels Liam’s warmth when his knees skid over the floor, his body pushed next to Zayn’s now and when he peeks out the corner of his eye, Safi’s looking at them with wonder.

“Do you think he understands?” Liam wonders, his shoulder nudging lightly against Zayn’s.

Zayn lifts an eyebrow, lips pursing.  “Understands what?”

Liam leans in a little closer, the scent of his cologne, of citrus, of _Liam_ strokes against Zayn’s senses before Liam’s whispering, “How much I like you.”

“I don’t know,” Zayn chokes out.

“Do you?  Understand, I mean?” Liam asks, his voice still deliberately low.

Zayn runs his tongue across his lips just as Liam does, his vision hazy like the fog in London after a storm.  Liam’s grinning at him, round cheeks lifted, ring finger linking with Zayn’s under the water now, the middle one next.

“I think so,” Zayn whispers back, chin lifting.

“I do.  Like you, that is,” Liam adds with a smile.

Zayn nods slowly, feels vulnerable in a way he hasn’t since that guy in secondary school.  He swallows on his words, refuses to be heartbroken again, except it slips out before he can will all the way down.

“I do too.”

“Loads, Zayn.  Massively,” Liam says confidently, index fingers curled around each other now.  “It’s pretty fucking mushy, actually,” Zayn sees the way Liam winces after the curse leaves his lips but Zayn knows Liam’s voice is too low for Safi to hear.

“Like a little girl when she has a crush which is rather silly because,” Liam waves his hand in front of himself, around his crotch, “obviously, I’m _not_ a girl.”

Zayn nods along, snickers when Liam makes a face.  His tongue runs over his lips, Liam watching him now and their faces are so close.  The water’s shifting around their wrists, thumbs finally meeting and Zayn’s breath barely exhales through his lungs this time.

Zayn startles when warm water splashes his cheek, into his hair, down his neck before his lips can meet Liam’s.  His head jerks in Safi’s direction, the child giggling while continuing to splash the water around him.  He’s wide-eyed looking on his son, mouth gaped and, yeah, Safi doesn’t know what was about to happen, what Zayn _hopes_ was about to happen, and he can’t help but fumble out a smirk when he catches the sound of Liam’s laughter mingling sweetly with Safi’s.

“It’s not funny,” Zayn says flatly, turning back to Liam who’s almost red-faced with his cheeks pushed up higher, eyes crinkled.

“It sort of is,” Liam laughs back, his nose wrinkled.

Zayn snorts lowly, head shaking.

There’s a surprised gasp passing through Liam’s lips when Zayn scoops up some water, tosses it at Liam.  It runs down his face, over his lashes, trickling down his nose and Liam’s almost glaring at him with shock.  Zayn offers him a shrug, hand reaching out to wipe away trails of bubbles from Liam’s soft cheek, thumb slipping down his jaw.

“How funny is it now?” Zayn asks with a snicker, long fingers rounding the shape of Liam’s cheek.

Liam shakes his head with a tense jaw, the water already soaking his shirt but Safi’s laughing loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls as he splashes the water around some more.  Zayn raises his brow, watches the smile smooth over Liam’s lips and its art in motion the way Liam pulls Zayn’s hand from his face, twines their fingers while resting their hands on the edge of the tub.  And Liam’s inching in, nuzzles his wet face against Zayn’s cheek until Safi’s giggling and Zayn’s trying to push Liam away except he can’t because Liam has both of his hands trapped now, tickling lips and scruff against Zayn’s neck.  They’re falling back, Zayn under Liam and there’s nothing but laughter tiling the walls as Liam and Zayn wrestle playfully and Safi drags his rubber duck through the mountains of bubbles in the water – _How beautiful it was to be anything at all._

Zayn’s toweling off his hair in a corner of his shadowy bedroom, Safi’s nightlight – “You know you can tell us the truth. It’s honestly _your_ nightlight, yeah?” Niall had once asked, but Zayn merely flipped him off – giving off a soft glow from a corner of the room.  He drags his teeth along his lip while watching Liam rock Safi in his arms from that corner of the room, Safi a little restless before his eyes start to flutter shut, a pacifier between his lips.

Zayn had given him a bottle earlier, letting Safi sit in the middle of his bed holding his own bottle while Zayn and Liam fussed over what clothes to dress Safi in – “I think he should wear the yellow one.” “The _blue_ one with the ducks looks better.” “You’re insufferable.” “You’d be happy if he was wearing a rugby onesie.” “You might be right.” “You’re pathetic.” “You’re beautiful.” “You’re… fuck off, Liam.”  They settled on a white one with bears on it, Zayn stroking Safi’s fuzzy hair as Liam slipped him into it.  And Zayn offered Safi to Liam immediately, refusing to argue with that voice in the back of his head that told him he wanted to see Liam holding Safi again, wanting to dream about it later.

He can hear Liam’s soft humming once more – _When we meet another way, you won’t recognize my face_ – while Safi’s head is pressed to Liam’s bare chest, the damp shirt from earlier lying somewhere on Zayn’s bedroom floor.  Zayn studies the curve of Liam’s spine, the muscles in his shoulders, the tattoo scripted under his other forearm: _‘Everything I wanted but nothing I’ll ever need.’_   He wants to ask Liam about every stitch of ink, what each means, wants to show Liam all of his, even the silly thick heart on his hip, explain them to Liam in soft, hushed voices until there’s no words left, just rough kisses.  He chews on his thumbnail, catches the way the warm light creates a glow on Liam’s tan skin, dances like autumn leaves midflight over Liam’s jaw, his cheeks.

“You’re good with him,” Zayn tells him, his voice low when he spots Safi sleeping quietly in Liam’s arms.

Liam offers him a small smile, glancing down.  “I have younger cousins.”

Zayn nods, moves around the bed until he can sit on the corner closest to Liam and Safi.

“He doesn’t usually stay in anyone’s arms that long,” Zayn admits, head tilting to watch Liam stroke the back of Safi’s head.  “Except mine.”

He watches the grin tip on Liam’s lips, pink shading his cheeks.  “You think he likes me?”

“I think _everyone_ likes you,” Zayn sighs, eyes drifting away.  He doesn’t mean for it to sound harsh, mocking.  “You’re too wonderful not to.”

“’m not,” Liam insists, dragging his feet as he moves closer to the bed.

Zayn puffs out a breath, eyes watching the moon flicker in through the window, cascade pale blues over his son’s face.  All of his breath bunches in his chest, his throat a bit dry.  He’s waist deep in it now, the way Liam looks holding Safi, the way Saf is gentle and warm there, the way it flickers like _stutter-stutter-stop_ against his heart.  And the room is far too quiet, nothing but Safi’s even breathing, Liam’s quiet humming, Zayn trying to breathe normally but failing every time his gaze lifts to find Liam looking down at Safi almost as if he was his own.

“Tell me about it,” Liam requests, kneeling onto the bed before carefully moving backward to the headboard.  He presses his back to it, adjusting Safi into one arm while yanking up a pillow.  He fails at fluffing it but he manages to slide it behind his back, pushing back until he’s comfortable.

Zayn crawls up to them, keeps a mild distance but his fingers find Liam’s thigh, drum along it.

“About what?”

“Everything,” Liam says with his smile curving gently.  “Your family.  Safi’s mum.  All of it.”

Zayn feels himself choke on a breath.  He needs a cigarette, needs something to drag that used oxygen from his lungs.  He feels tense, bones stiff, chest heavy when he breathes out.  But Liam’s giving him a quiet look, one that promises not to let Zayn break.  One that tells Zayn he can stop whenever he wants to, leave everything dead on the floor, swept underneath the bed if he’d like.

Zayn drags his fingers through his still damp hair, scoots a little closer to Liam, keeps his hand on Liam’s thigh and it all sort of happens when Liam lowers a hand on top of Zayn’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.  He tells Liam everything in hushed tones, uneven breaths, trembling lips.  He talks about his mum, about Perrie, about how his family adored her like she was perfect for Zayn even though Zayn knew she wasn’t.  He admits Perrie loved him, he didn’t love her.  He talks about how they met – another one of Louis’ horrible ideas that involved Zayn skateboarding through the clothing shop Perrie worked at, crashing into the front counter where she was and it was all goofy smiles and little touches from there.

He stiffens when he talks about their first time, about the second and the third because Zayn never felt quite alive with her like he’s certain sex should be.  He doesn’t admit to Liam he feels that way with Liam, _alive_.  Doniya sort of ignored Perrie, Waliyha and Safaa clung to her.  Louis never got on with her, Niall always did, Eleanor too.  He feels tears biting at his eyes when he tells Liam about the pregnancy, about the way Perrie cried for hours, thought about getting rid of his son, coming around three months in when Zayn was horribly scared and confessing to his mum because she always fixed things for him, made them better.

“She hasn’t talked to me much since then,” Zayn admits with his head lowered, nails scratching along the denim of Liam’s jeans.  “She just, she won’t.  And I think, I think she’s disappointed in me.  I think they all are.  But, with her, it hurts a bit more, you know?  She’s me mum.”

Liam nods along, not that Zayn can see because he keeps his head down, eyes blinking rapidly because he doesn’t want to cry.  He doesn’t do that anymore.

Zayn laughs through stories about Safaa and Waliyha, the way they fight like they hate each other though he knows Waliyha loves Safaa more than anyone.  Safi has eyes like Safaa, a smile like Waliyha but he figures those things may have changed.  He wonders if they know about Safi, have ever seen him, though he still sends texts to Doniya, pictures he captures on his mobile that Doniya always sends a silly emoticon response to.  He confesses to wanting a better life for Safi, maybe with someone else because who wants to grow up with parents who aren’t together?  Who don’t know where they’re at in their own lives, let alone the life of their child’s?  Liam creeps comforting fingers into his hair then, forehead pressed to Zayn’s temple.

He doesn’t talk much about his baba, wonders if Liam even wants to know.  Zayn still loves him, without thinking, but there’s an inkling of disappointment that has settled in the bottom of his heart for too long.  He wishes things had gone differently.  He’s certain there’s millions of people who feel that way but his is sort of a special wish.  One where his baba holds Safi in that swing in their backyard, the sunset painting an orangey-yellow background, sings lowly to Safi like he did for Zayn, pets at Safi’s hair and whispers, “Aap khubsurat hain,” like he’d done so many times to Zayn when they were sheltered from the rest of the world.

Zayn watches the heaviness of Liam’s eyes, the way his smile is a little crooked.  He bites on a grin, inches even closer until their thighs touch, shoulders rubbing together.  He scoops an arm around Liam’s shoulders, pulls them down a little on the bed until he’s holding Liam while Liam holds Safi.  He gentles smooth kisses to the top of Liam’s head, against his temple until Liam slips a little further down, resting his head on Zayn’s chest.  Zayn wonders can he hear the thick beat of his heart, smiles when Liam continues to hum – _When we meet one way or another, you won’t speak up_.

The moon glows pale silver now, drifting shadows over Liam and Safi, Zayn’s fingers stroking Liam’s scalp, rubbing gently at Safi’s shoulder.  He feels it all stick to him, his heart afire, his fingertips numb, his toes sickly cold.

“You look beautiful babe,” he whispers, doesn’t mean to but the words fall out so naturally.

He thinks Liam doesn’t hear him, his breathing evened out, eyes shut but then there’s that soft voice telling him, “When you’re ready, let me know Zayn.”

The fizzles against his brain – _You won’t speak up, speak up, speak up_ – his thumb pressing over those lashes kissing Liam’s cheeks, down his nose.  He lets his own eyes fall shut, a deep inhale of lavender, Liam’s fading cologne, Safi’s baby powder, something sticky-sweet.  He nods along to Liam’s words, biting on the tip of his tongue so he doesn’t say anything to interrupt this moment.  He holds it all in like a choked breath, his lungs filling with a tinge of regret that he tries to run from.

He doesn’t think Liam would let him get far even if he tried.

**

He doesn’t know how this starts – Well, that’s a lie.  He does.  He didn’t intend for it to happen though.

It only takes a few days after that night with Safi before he and Liam are nearly inseparable.  It’s simple, the way they find each other in the hallway, knocks at the door when Zayn gets off his late shift from the restaurant to slide into Liam’s flat and watch a film, Liam waking him early to coffee even though Zayn hates mornings and repeatedly tells Liam this.  Liam always ignores him, laying a cup of coffee on Zayn’ bedside table before slipping under the duvet, sliding his earbud in to listen to some music until Zayn’s no longer grumpy.  Liam always smells freshly showered on those mornings, right after his run, and Zayn doesn’t deny he likes the way Liam lets Zayn cuddle up to him, head on Liam’s shoulder before stealing an earbud from Liam to listen to whatever it is Liam keeps bobbing his head to – “You have awful taste in music.” “You have awful taste in _everything_.”

Liam even takes him into the city to that bookstore he peruses for new comics.  They spend hours there, rifling through the stacks and stacks of books until they find the corner where all the comics are.  They sit on the floor, flipping through back issues and he always listens to Liam’s argument about _“why DC is far_ superior _to Marvel_ ,” nodding along even though he is kind of partial to Peter Parker and Tony Stark – not as much as Bruce Wayne and Hal Jordan, but he doesn’t have to tell Liam that.  He rests a head on Liam’s shoulder as he cards through the pages of the latest comics, snickering when Liam gapes at the art, points out all of the intricate plot points that Zayn probably missed when flipping through the pages.

They stay until the older lady manning the till – _Mary?_ He doesn’t quite remember – gives them a wary look that folds into a giant smile, Liam rushing to collect a large stack of comics to purchase while Zayn picks up a few books to start on – _“I don’t know much about English or books, but I think Tolkien is good, yeah?”_   Zayn snorts at Liam in those instances, ruffling that thicker part of Liam’s hair that’s growing in and Zayn admits, later on when they’re on the floor of Liam’s flat turning pages, that he likes the length.

Liam always stops by when Safi comes, bringing some new toy that Zayn scolds him about – “I’m perfectly capable of buying my son new things, Liam.” – but Liam always waves him off, reminds Zayn that he knows how capable Zayn is of doing things on his own.  Zayn always gives in, passes the toy to an eager Safi who plays with it for hours while Zayn reads and Liam massages his scalp.  Perrie warms up to him a little when she comes by, still giving Liam looks like he’s an enigma to her, but Zayn warns her in hushed voices not to give Liam shit.  She nods, tells Zayn about some new guy she’s seeing – “A brilliant bloke named Tom.” – that Zayn snickers at because, no, it couldn’t be _Louis’_ Tom.

Zayn usually falls asleep in Liam’s lap before Safi falls asleep in Liam’s arms, but when Liam presses quiet kisses to his temple to wake him, Zayn doesn’t complain.  He settles Safi into his bed across one of his pillows and manages to spend the rest of the afternoon quietly laughing with Liam about nothing at all, legs tangled together on the couch while Niall hushes them from his huddled position on the armchair, surrounded by books, highlighters, and notepads scribbled with things even Zayn doesn’t understand.  But Niall doesn’t complain when Liam cooks them dinner, shovels his mouth full of food and even tries to steal some of Safi’s biscuits until Safi flicks strained peas at his cheek, Zayn and Liam curling around each other in laugher from the kitchen.

Liam always comes by when it rains, or when Louis has managed to take up the remaining room on the settee with Harry’s arm around his shoulder, crowding onto Zayn’s couch with him while the rain clinks against the roof.  He doesn’t ask why, teeth dragging on his bottom lip with his glasses on his face, just lets Liam curl around him while Zayn writes or reads.  Liam stays mostly quiet, sometimes taking a kip on Zayn’s shoulder, and Zayn sort of wants to die of affixation because it all feels so, well, _domestic_.

“Are you scared of the rain?” Zayn asks later on, when they’re in Zayn’s bed now, on top of the covers holding hands while Zayn thumbs through another book.

“No.” Liam’s voice is flat, eyes on the wall.

“Then what?”

Liam sighs heavily with annoyance, eyes flitting over Zayn.  “Because I _like_ the rain.  I like being around _you_ in the rain.”

Zayn nods, doesn’t ask anything else though he wants to.  He just slouches back against the head board until Liam crawls closer, head on Zayn’s chest, humming quietly while Zayn turns another page.  He doesn’t kick Liam out, though he should because he’s grown too accustom to Liam’s body heat when the thunder rolls in the sky, but he tries not to think about those first kisses in the rain, Liam going down on him while the rain soaked the streets in glitter, the fact that they haven’t done anything remotely sexual since that night and it only frustrates him when he has to have a wank in the shower, teeth biting at the back of his fist when he comes, early in the morning to the image of Liam’s cock in his throat.

Even he and Harry spend more time together, which isn’t odd, but it is a bit disturbing considering he is the best mate of the guy he’s sort of trying not to fall for.  And there’s the fact that Louis and Harry still haven’t had sex or kissed and Zayn wonders how Louis has even made it to mid-August without strangling someone or having a one-off twice a week just to release some of that sexual tension.  But Louis is actually lovely with Harry, letting Harry follow him around like an abandoned puppy, grinning anytime Harry comes into the room because they share little looks that tells almost everyone there’s something going on between them.

He and Harry chat all the time, in the morning when Louis’ too busy at his own job to ring Harry, sometimes late at night when Liam has to close up the record shop.  Harry and Niall argue over video games until Harry stops by with Nando’s for Zayn and Niall, which makes Harry Niall’s automatic favorite – _“Sorry, Zayn.  He knows my stomach too well.”_ Harry makes Zayn watch all of his favorite movies, including _Love, Actually_ on _three_ different occasions, two in which Zayn falls asleep before that rocking rendition of “All I Want For Christmas Is You” that he loves, and Harry sings annoyingly along to, and Harry humors him when Liam isn’t around to watch _The Dark Knight_ for the thousandth time, letting Zayn go on about the plot and how brilliant Heath Ledger was.

They get tattoos together – Harry getting a ship that Zayn swears is the reason Louis gets a compass tattoo on himself a week later; Zayn gets that Pink Floyd one that Louis teases him about but Zayn still denies it has anything to do with that date he and Liam went on.  They play Guitar Hero until Liam gets off from his shift, slumping into Zayn’s flat with hunched shoulders, dragging feet, and Louis always pushes everyone over so Liam can slide in next to Zayn.  Zayn gives Louis a look whenever that happens but he doesn’t hide the blush wrecking his cheeks when Liam sighs, head resting in the crook of Zayn’s neck while Zayn slides an arm around Liam’s shoulders, flipping Louis off when he leans forward with a proud grin.

It’s all sort of fantastic for a while, but he feels Liam start to pull away some days.  He doesn’t mention it, not when Liam sits by Niall instead of Zayn, or when Liam doesn’t stop by during a particularly loud thunderstorm – he knows Liam’s home because Harry comes by looking panicked before crawling under Louis’ arm and playing Tomb Raider.  They share kisses here and there, mostly in Zayn’s bedroom where no one can see, but when Zayn tries to move things a little further, Liam usually makes a brilliantly bad joke that Zayn snorts at, hiding his frown when Liam crawls away and forces them to watch _Superman Returns_ even though he knows Liam isn’t fond of that film at all.

But Zayn lets Liam get away with it because there was no defining thing keeping them to each other.  Not that there was one with Harry and Louis either, but they were different.  Harry and Louis were free to be together if they really wanted.  Zayn didn’t know if the same applied to him and Liam.  Especially since Liam had stopped reminding Zayn he was waiting on him, giving Zayn the space to decide.

He really thinks about punching Louis in the face when they’re all in his flat, Niall somewhere on the floor with a bag of crisps and a chemistry book opened while Zayn and Harry play Halo, Louis drumming on the top of Niall’s snapback while Liam’s curled around Zayn, head on Zayn’s shoulder with a smile.  Liam’s giggling into Zayn’s shoulder when Zayn keeps losing, Harry licking his tongue out in concentration because he almost never wins when he plays with Niall.  He catches Louis’ snort, ignores it while Liam threads fingers through his soft, unstyled hair.

“Would you look at you two,” Louis says with a smirk, head nodding toward Zayn and Liam rather than Harry and Zayn.  “You lot look like the picture-perfect version of boyfriends.”

Zayn feels it when Liam tenses up, tries to reach around Liam before he pulls back but it’s too late and Zayn’s dropping the controller, slumping back against the couch while Liam clears his throat, excuses himself from the room.  Harry blinks at them, Niall pinching Louis’ ankle until Louis slaps him, and Zayn keeps his eyes on the wall rather than watching Liam drag his feet toward Zayn’s room.  Liam stays that night, his back to Zayn and he feels cold when Zayn scoots closer, circles his arms around Liam’s midsection but he doesn’t jerk away like Zayn half-expects him to.  He rubs his feet along Zayn’s, hums particularly low, and Zayn thinks, later on, he hears Liam sniffle in the dark.  He hates that the pillow Liam slept on is damp in the morning, probably from hot tears, after Liam’s left without saying a word.

But that’s not how _this_ started.  No, that was Liam, well, it wasn’t.

It was that _glow_ around Liam, sweat sticking to his forehead, t-shirt clinging to his skin, those damn red joggers hanging low on his hips as he jogs up the steps toward his flat.  It was Zayn’s need for a fag so early in the morning when he should be sleeping in, closing his thick curtains to block out the fucking sun which obviously wasn’t a fan of something like sleep.  It’s the smile they give each other when Lim pulls his keys from his pockets, moves toward his own door because it’s been over a week since the Louis incident and, though they’re polite to each other, they still haven’t talked about it.

It’s probably the way Zayn runs his tongue over his lips, doing more than just wetting them.  It might be that dark look in Liam’s eyes when he looks over Zayn, shirtless with those tattoos scattered over his gold skin, chinos barely hanging on his hips with bare feet.  Maybe it was the snapback on Zayn’s head or the way Liam had probably poured some of his bottle water over his head to cool himself from the thick August heat because his skin glitters from more than just sweat.  It might’ve been the way Zayn instinctively rested a hand over his crotch when Liam stretched, muscles moving under silky skin, the way Liam breathed a heavy sigh as Zayn patted the bottom of his box of smokes.

Fuck, it’s probably the way Liam lifted an eyebrow, Zayn wetting his lips once more with a nod but whatever it was, it had Liam pushing Zayn back into that apartment, both of them tripping over Zayn’s discarded trainers until they crash onto the couch with a huff.  It had Zayn’s hands under Liam’s shirt before their lips even met, Liam shifting a leg between Zayn’s, thigh pressing up to Zayn’s crotch and, yeah, he’s incredibly hard just like Liam who won’t stop rolling his erection against Zayn’s hip and panting into his mouth.

Liam’s lips glide like velvet over Zayn’s chapped ones, tongue licking inside until Zayn smiles, lets Liam lick at his teeth before running over Zayn’s.  There’s a push against his chest when Zayn tries to sit up, Liam grinning into a kiss and Zayn lets Liam take his time, remember how painfully wonderful it is to be pressed against Zayn again.

Zayn helps Liam kick off his sneakers, jerking off Liam’s shirt when they break from kissing but that doesn’t last long because Zayn cranes his neck to capture some more, tongue licking to find every flavor of Liam’s mouthwash, that piece of chocolate he probably snuck from Harry’s collection, the smoothness of the water he’s been sipping while running.  His fingertips burn while running over Liam’s hot skin, Liam’s erection digging into his hip while Zayn thrusts up to meet Liam’s.

“Missed you,” Liam says against his lips, nipping at Zayn’s bottom lip until it’s raw.

“Fuck, me too,” Zayn gasps back, makes a horribly embarrassing noise at the back of his throat when Liam runs fevered lips over Zayn’s neck, his collarbone.

“Mmm, keep making noises like that,” Liam begs, teeth digging into Zayn’s skin.  “Makes me so fucking _hard_.”

“Ah,” Zayn mewls, his erection pressing painfully hard against the zipper of his trousers and, _fuck_ , he knew Liam could have him like this but that filthy mouth makes Zayn want Liam in him, fucking the tightness from that hole that hasn’t so much as felt one of Liam’s fingers in far too long.

“Get these,” Zayn’s struggling with the waistband of Liam’s joggers, pulling at them breathlessly, “ _off._ ”

Liam nods, grins through another kiss.  He stutters out a moan, knees digging into the couch as he sits up a little and Zayn’s popping the button on his chinos, pushing at them as Liam pushes at his own pants and, _shit_ , Liam’s not wearing any boxers this time.

“Were you expecting something to happen?” Zayn wonders when Liam stumbles out of the rest of his clothes.

Liam looks down, his whole body going an embarrassing red hue.  He shakes his head violently, pulling at Zayn’s trousers.

“Harry hasn’t done laundry yet,” Liam confesses, dragging down Zayn’s chinos before Zayn’s flicking them away with his feet.

“Really?” Zayn doesn’t sound convinced but Liam’s settling between his legs again, easing down until they’re chest to chest.

Zayn feels Liam’s grin against his neck before the kisses, stroking fingers over the back of Liam’s head as he says, “You wanted this more than me.”

“Maybe,” Zayn says with a shrug, shivering when Liam bites playfully at the side of his neck.

“Just tell me what you want,” Liam breathes against his the long stretch of Zayn’s neck, fingers inching all of Zayn’s skin, tugging at the material of Zayn’s boxers.

Zayn hitches on a breath, tugging at that small tuft on the top of Liam’s head.  He’s kissing Liam roughly, legs wrapping around Liam’s waist, Liam putting all of his weight on his arms so he can work his crotch against Zayn’s.  Zayn can feel it, that thick length, needs to touch it because it’s been far too long.  He needs it in his mouth, inside of him, in his hand, wherever the fuck he can get it.  And those kisses, they’re _amazing_.  Liam kisses him like it’s been only hours since they last did this but it’s been longer.

“I want you to fuck me,” Zayn groans, working his hips against Liam’s.  “I want to fuck you.  I want you to get on your knees, let me fuck you and then I want to ride you.  Fuck Liam, I – I just want _you_.”

Liam nods, heavy breaths that sound like a choir of angels to Zayn’s ear when Liam pulls back again.  He kisses along Liam’s jaw, hips lifting when Liam drags down his briefs and he hates that he has to untangle his legs from around Liam to get them the rest of the way off, growls when Liam’s lips are too far from his own but he lets Liam drop away that last stitch of material to feel their naked bodies flushed together.

They kiss until Zayn’s lips are raw, Liam’s swollen.  Zayn’s back is arched, Liam working a wet finger inside of him, pressing against something magical that makes Zayn see sparks until his body comes undone.  Zayn wraps his tongue around another finger, slurping on it like its Liam’s prick, palming Liam until Liam’s barely holding himself up with one arm, dark eyes bearing down on Zayn.

Zayn moans when Liam nips along his tattoos, leaving purple marks to match the dark black ones on Zayn’s skin.  There lips brush softly, Zayn marking Liam’s skin with his fingers, his body writhing beneath Liam and, yeah, he needs Liam in him _now_.  He doesn’t care if he isn’t loose enough or if Liam wants to take his time.  It’s been far too long.

“Do you want me to suck you?” Liam asks against Zayn’s lips, grinning when Zayn groans.

“Yes,” Zayn says before he can think about it.  “ _No_.  No, no.  I need you to fuck me.”

“I can.  I can suck you too.  I can let you come in my mouth.”

Zayn thinks everything inside of him breaks then.  He pulls Liam down roughly, kisses him like it’s going to be the last time, until Liam’s breathless this time and Zayn’s pulling back with a smirk.

“And you’ll let me go down on you too?” Zayn wonders, rubbing his thumb over Liam’s lips, wiping away the spit.  “And let me lick my tongue over your hole?  I can do that for you.”

Liam nods briskly, mouth gaped, pupils blown.

Zayn snorts, leans up until his lips are against Liam’s ear, fingernails dragging down Liam’s back.  “I can do a lot more too.  Just tell me what you want.”

Liam shudders, eyes squeezing shut.  He pinches at Zayn’s thigh, lets Zayn wrap his legs back around his waist before he whispers, “I want you to fall in love with me.”

Zayn’s not certain if it’s the keys jiggling in the door, the sharp gasp from Eleanor’s lips, or the words Liam whispered to him that makes him go painfully still but he does, beneath Liam with Niall standing in the doorway, wide-eyed with Eleanor clambering behind him.

“Oh fuck,” Liam gasps out, nearly leaping over the back of the couch as he scrambles away from Zayn.

“No, _don’t_ fuck,” Niall squeals, hand thrown over his eyes but he’s still peeking between the spaces between his fingers.

“Get _out_ you daft fuck,” Zayn barks, struggling to cover himself with one of those stupid throw pillows Louis bought them, which right now wasn’t one of Louis’ worst ideas.

“Would everyone please stop using the word _‘fuck’_ right now?” Eleanor requests, still hiding behind Niall with her fingers pinching into the skin of Niall’s shoulders.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Niall hisses, feet stomping like a child and Zayn rolls his eyes, quickly reaches for his discarded black briefs.  He tries not to grin when Eleanor slaps Niall’s back repeatedly.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Zayn snaps at Niall, trying to force his erection into the small, confined material of his briefs and Niall was not gawking at him, was he?

Niall snaps his mouth shut, brow furrowing before peeking over the couch where Liam is six shades of red, trying to find his shirt while dragging his joggers over his bare hip.

“What the fuck are you doing fucking on our couch?” Niall shoots back with as much anger as he can muster but he and Zayn both know Niall’s not good at anger.  Or _any_ emotion other than happy.

“Again, with the _fucks_ ,” Eleanor sighs, standing on her tiptoes to look over Niall’s shoulder.  Zayn goes incredibly pink at that, dragging his fingers through his hair as he gathers up his chinos, trips over those stupid trainers Liam still hasn’t put on.

“We weren’t fucking,” Liam grumbles decidedly low, sliding into his shirt.  He keeps his eyes lowered, a frown pulling at Zayn’s lips for a brief moment until he reads the way Liam’s face pinches together.

“ _Yet_ ,” Zayn adds pointedly, head snapping back toward Niall with his eyes narrowing as he glares at Niall.

Niall groans loudly, tugging the snapback off of his head before crumpling it between his fingers.  Eleanor eases from around him and, wait, what was _she_ doing here?

“El,” Zayn hisses lowly, her head popping up and those brown eyes are wide and more doe-like than ever.

“Uh, Zayn,” Niall stutters out but Zayn waves his hand dismissively.

He trades glances between Niall, then Eleanor, then Niall again, then there’s thick pink blush rounding Eleanor’s high cheekbones, her fingers fidgeting like that one time Zayn caught her in a lie about what she and Louis had been doing.  And Niall, he’s more jittery than he usually is which is pretty hard since Niall has a thing for coffee, baristas, late night swallows of Coke and almost every assortment of candy.

Zayn’s eyes squint at them and he almost wants to laugh at it when reality really sinks in.

“Does Louis know about this?” Zayn asks through clenched teeth, fingers rolling into a fist.

“Zayn, that was _ages_ ago,” Eleanor whines, defiantly slipping her hand into Niall’s.  Zayn snorts at the gesture.

“Yeah, so was the death of Bambi’s mum but you still bawl like a newborn anytime you watch that film,” Zayn notes with a tense laugh, catching the way she scowls before flipping him off.

“Lou knows,” Niall finally blurts out, gripping her hand tighter.  “Somewhat.”

“Somewhat,” Zayn repeats, lips fixing tightly together.

“It’s none of his fucking business,” Eleanor declares, her voice a bit rough like she’s frustrated, trying to keep it all in.  “But he knows we’ve been out a few times.  He’s fine with it.  Quite in love with that chap across the hall from what I hear.”

“Aren’t we all in love with the _chaps from across the hall_ ,” Niall teases, eyeing Liam who’s scuffing his feet on the ground, hands in his pocket with his head still hanging low like he’s ashamed.  It irritates Zayn.

“This is quite fantastic,” Zayn sighs out, pulling a zipper hoodie, probably Niall’s though Zayn isn’t too sure, from between the couch cushions.  He pulls his arms through it, doesn’t bother to zip it as Niall taps a nervous foot in the doorway.

“Right, well I should go,” Liam finally says to break the silence, slipping his feet into his trainers.

“No,” Niall and Zayn say together, Niall grinning, Zayn scowling.  He’s fuming and, _fuck_ , what the hell is wrong with Liam?  What the fuck did Zayn ever do to make this boy stick around long enough for Zayn to feel this way about him?

Liam freezes, head lifting for the first time, and Zayn spots traces of regret circling those perfectly brown eyes.  He wants it to go away.  Now.  Just, _go away_.

“We’ll just go to my room.  I have some, um, _studying_ to do anyway,” Niall suggests, trading a look with Eleanor that mainly consists of him waggling his eyebrows while she blushes heavily.  She gives him a nod and they’re walking around Liam and Zayn like they’re a field of landmines, Eleanor glancing back once more over her shoulder with an apologetic look in her eyes.

“I need to go,” Liam says as soon as Niall’s door creaks shut, marching toward the door.

He’s halfway there before Zayn calls out, “Why?”

Liam stops and Zayn’s heart stops making that _thump-thump-thump_ noise in this ears.  But Liam keeps his back to Zayn, Zayn’s fingers still digging into the palm of his hand as he glares at Liam.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses, kicking at his own high tops this time.  “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

Liam jerks around at that, brow knit together, nose wrinkled, and there’s anger rolled into that curled upper lip.

“ _Me?_   I’m doing this to _you?_ ” Liam barks, the sound alone shaking Zayn slightly.

“Yes,” Zayn yells right back, digging his feet invisibly into the hardwood floor.  “You just keep, _fuck_ , you keep making me feel this way and you don’t give me a chance to figure it the fuck out.  You just expect me to get it and, I’m sorry Liam, but unlike you, I never just got life like that.”

Liam laughs roughly, but his face is still wrinkled with frustration.  “Give you time?  I’ve given you a month, Zayn.  I’ve waited and waited and you keep on stalling.  You keep, keep leaving me before I can leave you.”

“You want to leave me?” Zayn asks and it comes out a little more broken than Zayn would’ve liked.

“Yes,” Liam whispers, his voice dry and cracked.  He shakes his head immediately, eyes dropping.  “No.  I don’t.”

Zayn’s lips part but close just as quickly.  He can’t say what he wants to, what he probably needs to.  And Liam, the way he’s dragging the toe of his shoe on the ground, hands still in his pockets, eyes too far down for Zayn to look into – _fuck_ , he needs it all to stop cracking his heart.

“I have to quit you, Zayn, because if I don’t I’m going to hate you for not picking me,” Liam admits, head lifting again and Zayn hates the tears clinging to Liam’s lashes.  “I don’t want to hate you.”

“I don’t want you to,” Zayn says back, the words forced out because his throat is constricting.

Liam nods, drags the back of his hand across his eyes to smear away the tears.

“I don’t know if I can, you know, give you a relationship though I know it’s what you want from me,” Zayn confesses, pulling his fingers through his hair until it knots around those slender digits.

Liam nods again, swallowing.  “I know.  And I can’t keep asking you to.”

Zayn exhales a wet breath, the sting at his eyes unbearable but he won’t let them fall.  No, he’s not that fucking guy.  He’s _not_ a cliché.

“It’s just that – “

Liam holds up a hand, head shaking.  He doesn’t want an explanation, not with those large eyes, that frown tipping his lips lower.

“I shouldn’t have come here today,” Liam says with a shrug, sniffling lowly.  “I shouldn’t have come at all.”

It wrecks Zayn, it does.  The thing he knew would happen if he got too close to Liam.  The guy who would just be a neighbor, one he didn’t talk to, just nodding at when they passed.  The guy that he used to know, _intimately_ , that would now probably change his shifts so he’d never have to see Zayn in the morning, or late at night when he got off.  The one who wouldn’t be by Zayn’s side every time it rained and would probably hang out with Niall and Louis whenever Zayn wasn’t there.

The one that Zayn wouldn’t kiss until it hurt both of them.

“I should go,” Liam utters, turning slightly.  “I need to shower before work and my date tonight.”

“Date?” Zayn chokes out and he’s gaping at Liam, taken aback when Liam nods.

“Nice girl,” Liam starts but Zayn snorts at him.

“Girl?”

“Yes Zayn,” Liam hisses, fists jerked out of the pockets of his sweats.  He shakes his head at Zayn, Zayn’s chin lifting arrogantly and he wonders if Liam can tell it’s a defense mechanism.  It’s the only way Zayn can stop himself from letting out those tears sitting large and thick against his eyelids.

“She’s a sweet girl.  Works at a dance studio near the record store.  Harry likes her and, I don’t know, I just needed something,” Liam sighs before finishing.

“ _Better?_ ” Zayn hisses, eyes narrowing.

Liam shakes his head, disappointment settling into his expression.  “ _Different_.  Someone who’s not Zayn.”

Zayn nods like he understands but he doesn’t.  What the hell does that even mean?  Everyone in the entire world wasn’t Zayn.  They were _better_ , better for Liam.  They were probably more put together, a planned out life that included a career, a wonderful family that Liam can holiday with during Christmas, a heart that didn’t need to be mended, a purpose in life that included more than wanting to run away from everything.

Zayn wonders if she’s beautiful, if she smells nice.  Maybe she treats Liam better, kinder.  She probably talks gently, doesn’t smoke, touches Liam like he’s the world and not just to make sure Liam won’t run away.  And maybe Liam likes her too, wants to sleep with her, sees a future with her because Zayn can’t give him that.

Fuck, Zayn can’t give Liam anything but the tears that keep sticking to Liam’s eyelashes.

Zayn rubs at his chin while Liam blinks at him, the words he’s meaning to say still burning away in the acid of his stomach.

“Right,” Liam sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck for a moment.

“Do you think she’ll make you happy?” Zayn asks suddenly, blinking a little too hard until one of those warm tears slips quickly down Zayn’s sharp cheek, over his upper lip.  He licks it away, winces at the salty flavor.

Liam shrugs, lips twisting sideways.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.  It’s our first date.”

“First,” Zayn repeats, the word ripping barbwire down Zayn’s heart.

“Or last,” Liam shrugs out but Zayn doesn’t believe.  It’s probably the first day of their future together.  “Her name’s Danielle.”

“Danielle,” Zayn says lowly, tries to feel the weight of it against his tongue.  It feels disgusting but he forces out a smile for Liam.  “I’ll still be here, whenever you need.”

“I know,” Liam exhales out with a nod, turning away.  He glances over his shoulder, muted smile on his lips.  “Whenever I’m ready, yeah?”

Something like a broken laugh escapes Zayn’s small frame, shoulders slumping forward but he grins for Liam.  “Whenever you’re ready.”

Liam nods at that, walking briskly through the door and into his own flat, the door shutting silently.  Zayn wishes all of the thoughts and emotions in his head would go just that silently.

**

Zayn goes through almost half a pack after Harry creeps into their flat, the winding scent of Liam’s cologne still lingering in the hall long after he’s left for his date with Danielle.

 _Date_ , he laughs to himself five minutes after Harry’s made himself comfortable on their couch, squeezed between Niall and Louis with a bag of biscuits and a bowl of kettlecorn that Niall keeps blindly digging a hand into while playing Halo.  Harry only gives him a few brief looks, head ducked with his brow knit together like he’s thinking something but, fuck, Zayn doesn’t want to hear it.

He smokes two fags outside, the rest inside of the flat because, yeah, he can’t stand the way Liam’s scent sort of lingers in the hall, not that anyone else has noticed.  He ignores Niall’s protest from the couch, nearly dumps a bottle of cheap wine over Louis’ head when he makes a face and barks out, “Oi, Zee, take it outside, yeah?  Some of us want to live to see thirty.”  He flips Louis off and continues to take long drags, purposely exhaling the smoke in Louis’ direction until he scrambles into the kitchen and threatens to ruin Zayn’s hair with the fire extinguisher.

He flicks the ashes into a red plastic cup that used to be filled with Niall’s apple juice, feet kicked up on the arm of the chair he’s sitting in with a book in his lap he’s never intending to read.  Harry and Niall fight over FIFA – “You fucking tosser, go away!” “Maybe you should let your boyfriend play for you.” – while Louis drums out the melody to some Taylor Swift song along Harry’s leg until Harry becomes irritated.

“You know she’s not all that pretty,” Harry says offhandedly, fingers pushing back curls before giving Niall a light shove to block a goal.  He grins when Niall nearly falls off the couch.

Louis slaps Harry’s arm, partly for Niall smacking his head on the arm of the couch, the rest Zayn’s certain is because of Taylor Swift.  “Do not even compare her beauty to the wondrous music she creates.”

Harry shrugs, nose crinkling with a grin when he manages to steal the ball from one of Niall’s teammates.  “She’s nothing brilliant.”

Louis rolls his eyes.  “Hipster poser.”

“Bloody prick.”

“Wanker.”

“Asshole.”

“Curly-haired, freakishly tall, skinny arsed bugger.”

“Go out with me.”

Louis blinks at Harry for a second, Harry’s grin wide and pronounced but his smooth green eyes are still on the television, leaning to the side when Niall manages to sweep by him.

“Come again?” Louis asks, his voice not nearly as high and mighty as Zayn knows it usually is.

Zayn snorts, another pull of his cigarette before he’s pushing out a cloud of blue smoke, leaning back in his chair.

Harry gives a small shrug, looking almost defeated when Niall scores.  “Go out with me.”

“You mean, uh, on a _date?_ ” Louis asks, still dumbfounded and Zayn didn’t know many men who left Louis a stuttering mess the way Harry could.

Harry nods slowly, peeking at Louis with a smirk.  “Yeah.”

“We’ve done that,” Louis says, confusion still ruling his expression.

“No, we haven’t,” Harry declares, elbowing Niall when he does a mini-victory dance on the couch.

“What do you call the eight dozen times we’ve been out before?” Louis questions with an incredulous expression now.

Harry chuckles, face pinching together when Niall ruffles his curls.  He sticks his tongue out at Niall before snapping his head in Louis’ direction with a smile that strokes dark rose blush over Louis’ cheeks.

“That was us hanging out as friends.  That was you asking me to do things with you, unofficially.”

Louis nods along like he understands but Zayn can tell by the way Louis’ eyebrows set, the way his tongue licks the corner of his mouth that he’s just as clueless as he was before.

“And this would be?”

Harry sighs, leaning back a little to ease an arm around Louis’ shoulders, drawing him in as Niall starts up another game.  Harry kicks at Niall’s foot, distracting him enough to get the ball first and head for a goal.

“Bloody prat,” Niall grumbles, thumping a fist against Harry’s shoulder.

Harry grins in triumph, easing his eyes away from the screen to lick out a softer grin for Louis that some would say was a bit too cheeky but it was Harry and Zayn has a feeling it’s one of the things Louis truly loves most about Harry.

“This is me asking you out on a date.  This is me telling you that I don’t want to do things as friends anymore.  In fact, this is me telling you that Friday night I’ll be picking you up from _your_ flat this time to go see one of my favorite bands perform at some bar in the city,” Harry declares and maybe it’s the smokiness in his voice, the way his fingers play along the shell of Louis’ ear the whole time he’s speaking, the way his cherry lips refuse to lower from that high-tide smile that Zayn sort of likes but Louis’ captivated with nothing but wide eyes and low breathing.

Louis nods at him, swallows and Zayn smirks – _Fucking love and all of its glory_.

“What band?” Niall finally asks because Louis can’t seem to do anything but blink like a lovesick teenage girl.

Harry laughs out a smirk, nudging Niall when he uses Harry’s distraction to his advantage and scores another goal.

“All Time Low,” Harry says, leaning back a little further and Louis’ drifting with him, still tucked under Harry’s arm.

Zayn quirks up an eyebrow, letting the smoke settle in his lungs while Harry and Niall trade smiles and glances, humming lowly before they’re bellowing out lyrics Zayn’s never heard – _In a city of fools, I was careful and cool but they tore me apart like a hurricane._

Harry turns back to Louis, his thumb stroking the thick scruff Louis’ letting grow in along his jaw, careful green eyes that keep Louis still and quiet.  His brow lifts, anticipating something, inching his head a little closer.

“What do you say Lou?”

Louis pulls back some, face finally forming an expression instead of that blank one he’s been holding for minutes now.

“Fucking bullshit,” Louis huffs, pulling a snicker from Harry.  “The times I asked you out to do things still count.”

Harry chews on a smile, eyes rolling.  “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Is that a yes?” Harry asks, his voice lifted high on a grin while Niall pauses the game to lean over Harry’s shoulder, singing softly toward Louis – _Give me therapy. I’m a walking travesty. But I’m smiling at everything._

“Fine.  But don’t bring me flowers.  Too cheesy.  Wine would be fantastic,” Louis grins out, all mock bravado and self-righteousness but Zayn thinks he spots a little boy gleaming on Christmas morning in Louis’ eyes.

Zayn curls a smirk around the butt of his cigarette, breathing in the nicotine, exhaling out the ache.  He pulls at his black t-shirt, tries not to let the smiles Harry and Louis are sharing unsettle him but they crawl beneath his skin before he’s ready.  He sighs, stubbing out the cigarette in the cup before pushing off the chair, stretching until bones pop and everything inside of him feels pulled apart.

“That’s ace, really,” Zayn says, his voice dry and Louis lowers his brow, lips pushed out while Niall groans, falling back into the couch.

“Zayn,” Louis starts but Zayn quickly holds up a hand.  He’s not looking for sympathy.

“Think I’m gonna call it a night, chaps.  Morning shift and all,” Zayn declares, keeping his eyes straight ahead and he can feel three pairs of eyes watching his every move, words caught at the back of their throats.

He’s only in his dark-stricken room scrolling through pictures on his phone of Safi for twenty minutes before Harry’s barging in, closing the door quietly behind him.  He goes to flick on the lights but Zayn makes a strangled noise and Harry nods, holding his hands up defensively as if he’s come with good intentions.  He hasn’t come with another cigarette, a bag of those lemon-flavored biscuits Niall keeps in the back of the cupboard like he’s hiding them for a special occasion, or Liam so Zayn’s not very interested.  Still, he humors Harry when he takes a few cautious steps forward.

Zayn lets his eyes drop to his phone again, thumb swiping over the screen and it’s a picture of Safi sleeping on his bed in that silly Superman onesie – “I can’t believe I went to three shops and couldn’t find a Batman one,” Liam complained when he pulled it out of a shopping bag – that Liam dressed him in a few weeks ago.  He sighs at it, teeth sneaking his bottom lip inward and he pads his sock-covered feet on the duvet a melody in his head.  He wonders sometimes if it’s the same song Liam’s always humming, eyes shutting because, _fuck_ , he needs Liam to go the fuck away.

Zayn feels the bed dip a little, Harry toeing off his shoes before he’s scooting back.  Zayn cocks up an eyebrow, lips twisting sideways as Harry fluffs up a pillow, eases it behind him before leaning against the headboard, closer than Zayn would like.  And he twiddles his thumbs, loose fitting white t-shirt hanging low on his collar, exposing all the ink etched across his skin.

“His dad always expected a lot out of him,” Harry starts, looking at the wall as the moon and stars drape shadows over that red over black painted surface that Zayn was sort of proud of.

Zayn clears his throat, slouches back and he considers asking Harry what he’s talking about but he knows it’s Liam.

“His dad loves him, honestly does, but he wanted Liam to be this perfect thing.  Great in sporty stuff, a bloody fantastic student, or at least the hardest working one.  A good job, a good standing at whatever University he chose to go to,” Harry explains, his voice low and rough.  “Liam was supposed to get married, have a few kids down the line, save up and then, one day, take over the house his parents live in because it’s been in their family for like, I don’t know, generations or some shit.”

Zayn tips his head back, looks at the same wall Harry stares at.  He likes the way the red is splattered over the black, meeting somewhere in the middle for some kind of chaotic swirl that Louis said was foolish but Zayn didn’t think Louis had a good judge of taste.  He taps his fingers along his thigh, stays quiet while Harry speaks because he doesn’t know what to say.

“His mum sort of just wanted Liam to be happy.  His sisters too but Liam looks up to his dad.  He admires the way his dad gave up nearly everything, his health too, to make sure they had what they needed,” Harry continues, crossing his legs at the ankles, tapping a patterned melody that matches the one Zayn’s drumming out.

“Why are you – “

Harry holds up a finger, silences Zayn just that quickly.  “The kid didn’t turn out the way his dad expected.  He had health problems, never made it on all of those great sports teams his dad dreamed of.  He was a decent student, not the best by far even though I think he’s probably one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever known.

“He didn’t get to finish Uni because his parents didn’t have the money and he knew, that if he went, he’d be too busy working to pay off student bills to have time for things like studying and papers.  And, fuck it all, somewhere in the midst of graduating secondary he decided he might not fancy women.  Not as much as his parents probably would’ve hoped for if they were expecting a grandchild,” Harry sighs, his fingers wrapping into his curls.  “And so he worked hard to prove himself.  He threw away everything that Liam wanted to be something he thought he was _supposed_ to be.  A good kid, really, but life sort of handed him a shit deck of cards.”

Zayn nods, wants to tell Harry they were all handed a fucked hand to play with but he keeps his lips pressed together.  He itches his forefinger down his jaw, right along the dark scruff, waits until Harry’s pushed that unsettling frown off of his lips.

Harry snorts, pushing out a sigh as he toys with the necklaces hanging long and low from his neck.  “He’s the most genuine guy I know, Zayn.  No joking.  Solid lad, that Liam Payne.  He hurts more than he ever hurts anyone.”

“Harry, I – “

Harry shakes his head, finally turning to Zayn with determination set in those emerald eyes.

“He’s been waiting on you, Zayn.  The kid doesn’t do that.  He figures whoever he’s meant to be with will come along at the right time.  He’s some fucking prince out of those silly fairy tales me sister read to me when I was a bratty little bloke,” Harry says, his voice even more broken than before.

“But why?”

Harry shrugs roughly, pulling a little too coarsely on one of his curls.  “Daft fool, my guess.”

Zayn laughs at that, swoops a hand through his own thick hair.

“You waited on Lou,” Zayn points out.

“I could afford to,” Harry argues, “I didn’t have anything to lose.  I didn’t have anything invested.  I could walk away at any time because what we had was simple and, for the most part, emotionless.”

Zayn twists his lip upward, brow lifted.  “Come on.”

Harry laughs lowly.  “It’s true Zayn.  I knew Lou wanted one thing in the beginning and that’s why I never gave it to him, though I could’ve.  There was nothing holding us together if we both wanted to walk away.”

Zayn’s chin drops, eyes lowering.  He knows what Harry’s saying without Harry being mean, upfront.

“Is she really that wonderful?” Zayn asks shyly, thumb rubbing into the material of his tight jeans.

“Do you want an honest answer?”

 _No_ , Zayn thinks, but his lips push out a “yes” unwillingly.

“She’s bloody fantastic.  Nice girl with big dreams,” Harry says and Zayn misses the kinder side of Harry.

“Big dreams,” Zayn repeats, dragging his thumbnail over that coffee stain from earlier.

“But she’s not for him,” Harry adds with a soft smile.  “Liam knows that.  He just,” Harry pauses, thoughtfully rubbing at his chin before he’s saying, “He needs to know that if he can’t have you that he’ll be able to move on from that.  With her, with some other bloke, with _anyone_.”

Zayn nods, that tightening in his stomach becoming almost too painful.  There’s sweat on his palms, his cheeks flushed, and his head aches in that way when you wake up with a beautifully painful hangover.

“I don’t want to ruin him, Haz,” Zayn whispers, eyes still lowered.  He tenses when Harry slips an arm around his small shoulders, dragging Zayn closer.

“I think his father did a brilliant job at that without you,” Harry tells him, his long fingers playing softly in Zayn’s hair.

Zayn nods slowly, eyes sliding shut and he doesn’t picture Liam at some fancy restaurant, holding her hand, smiling at all of her jokes, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek just before he’s telling her how beautiful she is.  He wants to picture Liam doing that for him and only him.

“But if you’re still holding onto him, Zayn, don’t dick around with his heart, yeah?  If there’s anybody in this bloody world who deserves a good piece of the happy ending, it’s that chap,” Harry adds, a stern look in his eyes when Zayn lifts his.

Zayn gives him a small nod, teeth biting at his bottom lip.  “There’s such a thing, huh?”

Harry grins, tickles his fingers up Zayn’s ribs until Zayn’s giggling.

“You little shit, you know there is,” Harry laughs out, pushing Zayn away.  “And you can have one.  You, Safi, the fucked up combination of Lou, Ni, and I, and Liam too.”

Zayn’s nodding just as Louis peeks his head in the door, Niall pushing his head in as well and they’re grinning when they spot the smile licked out on Zayn’s lips.

“And Liam too,” Zayn whispers with a fading smile, Niall and Louis jumping on the bed and fighting for Harry’s attention.  It’s all childlike laughter, a few hearty shoves and Harry’s trying to separate the two but it’s not working.  There’s a piece missing.

Zayn never thought about how incomplete they all just might’ve been without Liam there.

**

Niall’s at the library, though Zayn’s almost certain it’s another excuse to spend time with Eleanor who works only a few blocks away from the University library.  And that thick cologne Niall wears, the one that’s something like minty mouthwash mixed with rubbing alcohol, still coats the bathroom.  Plus Zayn spotted Niall wearing his favorite snapback, stealing one of Zayn’s nicer jumpers from his closet, and Niall’s backpack is still tucked away next to the couch.  But Zayn doesn’t really say anything, grinning at Niall when he checks the mirror at least three times before sliding out the door.

Louis’ called him no less than three times because that’s what Louis does.  He’s impossibly annoying and he’s sort of like that alarm clock in the morning that you meant to put on snooze but it doesn’t happen.  He’s all giddy because tomorrow is his date with Harry and Zayn hates that Louis has drug him halfway across the city to find something to wear, Louis vetoing everything Zayn picks out and Zayn doing the same – “Can you even _breathe_ in those trousers Lou?” – until they find something out of Topman that Zayn can stand looking at Louis in.  He knows Louis is something like a romantic though he comes off cold, obnoxious, far too sarcastic when he should be kind and polite.  But he’s the kind of guy who likes flowers, despite what he tells Harry, wants to be taken to nice dinners or cooked something at home with nothing but the slow burn of a candle and some stupid romantic comedy on the telly.

When there’s a constant knock at the door, he’s half expecting it to be Louis having a freak out over his impending date, or Niall because Niall was good at leaving his keys behind when he’s in a rush.  His socks nearly have him sliding along the hardwood, tongue pressed to his teeth with a smile because, honestly, he could do for some company.  His breath catches a little, eyes moving around curiously when he opens the door and it’s not Niall or Louis.

Perrie’s standing there, her foot tapping nervously on the ground, her mascara a little streaked, platinum blonde hair pulled beneath a beanie with flushed cheeks and Safi’s curled into her arms, wide-eyed as he looks up at Zayn.  His overnight bag is hanging off of her shoulder, but there’s more this time.  There’s another bag, a box behind it, Safi’s car seat and Zayn’s eyebrow is kicking up higher as Perrie chews at her bottom lip, eyes flitting around everywhere except his face.

“You gonna let us in or what?” she snaps and Zayn tenses, narrows his eyes at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Christ,” Perrie sighs, pushing past him.  She lets the bag slide off of her arm, the thud echoing against the walls of his flat and she’s walking in circles for a moment before finally sitting down on the couch, her foot still tapping nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Zayn repeats, glaring at her until she finally settles blue eyes on him and he thinks there’s tears there but he’s not completely sure.

“Can you bring the stuff inside already?” Perrie sighs, jerking the bag she carried in toward her and she’s pulling out Safi’s blanket, draping it across the hardwood before yanking out  few toys and settling Safi down on it.

Zayn blinks at her, watches the way her teeth gnaw at her lip before he’s toeing in the other things she left behind in the hall.

“I nearly fell trying to carry all of that up here with Saf in my arms,” Perrie exhales out, fingers tapping along her knee and her jitteriness makes Zayn uncomfortable in the worst way.

“Did you get evicted from your flat or something?”

Perrie pushes out something resembling a laugh but it sounds choked.  She shakes her head quickly, eyes lifted to the ceiling and she looks pale like a porcelain baby doll, nothing like the girl he’s spent more than enough hours admiring from afar.

“I’d move back to my parents’ before I’d ever consider moving in this place,” Perrie huffs out, eyes falling on Zayn, “no offense.”

“Sure,” Zayn says unevenly with a shrug.  He scratches at his neck, eyes falling on Safi who refuses to move, looking at them.

“You’re babysitting,” Perrie tells him, her voice a little less shaky this time.

“What?  What the hell do you have to do now?”

“Zayn – “

“And it just amazes me that you do this so often now like your life is so much more important.”

“Zayn – “

“Like I’m wasting my life away or something,” he continues, pacing the room.

“Zayn – “

“And I’m a good father, I’ll have you know.  I love Saf to pieces.  But that doesn’t mean you can just come and drop him off and throw a guilt trip on me for not being with you or some shit like that,” he hisses, fingers curling into a fist.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Perrie hisses and Zayn catches the way her voice breaks that time.  He turns to her, taken aback when large, thick, black tears settle along her pinkish cheeks.  “You’re babysitting.  _Permanently_.”

Zayn blinks at her, feels his heart thump particularly hard against his chest.

Perrie chews hard on her bottom lip, fingers fidgeting against those black tights she’s wearing, over her silly Madonna t-shirt and her tongue nearly clears off all of the gloss from her lips as she stares at him.

“We got a break, that singing group I’m in.  A good break.  A chance at making it, a better life for myself even.  We’re off to London tomorrow morning,” Perrie says, the excitement in her voice caged by something resembling regret.  Her eyes flicker over Safi, quickly look away when he looks up at her.

“You – Wait, you _can’t_.  You can’t leave him.  You can’t leave _us_ ,” Zayn demands, shaking off the shock.

Perrie snorts, her thumb wiping away the tears until there’s black rimming the bottom of her eyes.

“There’s no _us_ , Zayn.  We decided that long ago,” Perrie insists, rocking back and forth from where she sits on the edge of the couch, hugging herself.  “And you’re right, you do have a life.  A life that Safi belongs in… and one I left a long time ago.”

Zayn shakes his head, his own teeth chewing painfully at his lip.  His breathing is uneven, his heart drumming too loudly now, eyes narrowed and dark.

“What about Safi?”

Perrie glances back down to Safi who’s looking at Zayn with wide iris-colored eyes, sucking at a pacifier.  Her eyes close, tears a little slimmer now, bottom lip trembling like she’s trying to let go.  Zayn wonders if she already has.

“I wasn’t ready.   _We_ weren’t ready but you, you took to him naturally.  You loved him like he was a part of you,” Perrie admits, eyes blinking open and they’re glassy with sticking tears.  “I’m not there yet.  I’m not a mother, Zayn.  I’m… I’m not saying I don’t love Saf because I _do_ – “

“But you’re going to leave him?” Zayn snaps.

“Fuck off, Zayn.  I’ve thought about this,” she barks back, doesn’t stir when Safi jumps in fear.  Zayn’s jaw tenses, instinct telling him to reach out to Safi, calm him.

“I know what’s best for him,” Perrie sighs, scrubbing her palms over her eyes until those tears are gone.  “You love him.  Fuck, Zayn, you couldn’t tell it was hard for me?  I let you name our son, didn’t even put up a fight and, Christ, I probably would’ve just named him after my father and never thought a thing about it.  But you, _you_ named him.  You put so much thought and love into something so simple.  You’ve always done that for him, for the people you love.”

Zayn rounds the couch, scoops up Safi and he thinks of walking away but there’s something pulling him toward her.  He settles on the couch next to her, watches the way everything in her eyes breaks just that easily.  She’s trying but he knows she’s failing herself.

“I’m selfish,” she says lowly, rubbing pink fingernails over his knee.

Zayn wants to agree, ask her to leave but he simply shakes his head.  “You’re not.  Never were.”

She looks up with some sort of faded hope in her crystal blue eyes.  She nips at her lip, runs a shaky hand over Safi’s head before saying, “You’ll give him a better life, Zayn.  I know in my heart you will.  It’s just who you are.”

“And you’ll just go?”

She nods slowly, rubbing at the hand he has pressed to Safi’s back.  “I’ll call, if you want.  But you don’t have to remind him of who I am.  He doesn’t have to know the decision his mum made for herself, for him.”

Zayn sighs softly, eyes lowering to Safi who’s shifting on his lap, scooting closer to tangle his fingers in Zayn’s shirt, rest his head on Zayn’s chest.  He rests his chin on Safi’s head, curls into that warmth while Perrie watches.  There’s no more tears for her to shed, a simple pat on his knee before she’s standing.  His words sit in his throat, refusing to cross his tongue and he thinks everything they should’ve said long ago sweeps out of the door with her.

**

When he has all of Safi’s things in his room, Safi nestled on one of pillows, sleeping soundly with a pacifier in his mouth and an empty bottle lying near him, Zayn texts Louis.  He doesn’t go into detail, probably because reliving any piece of his life in the past two hours is a bit overwhelming, but he says enough to explain things.

He knows he doesn’t need to say much more when his phone vibrates two minutes later – _Brilliant!  Ive been planning her demise 4 mnths. Got an alibi? :)_ – and Zayn has to cover his mouth when his hand to contain his laugh.  He sends something short back, head shaking as he checks on Safi one more time, stroking light fingers over his son’s cheek.  His phone is vibrating in his hand again when he turns on the nightlight, sneaks out of the room with the door cracked before he’s checking it – _Want a cuddle? :( xx Lou_.  He sighs lowly, fingers gripping at the phone before he’s replying – _No you wanker ;)_.  He smiles softly when Louis sends him a picture of his latest tattoo, some outrageously large bird on his forearm, and, shortly after, a picture of him flipping Zayn off.

Niall bursts in twenty minutes later, that look on his face telling Zayn Louis’ not very good with secrets.  Not that Louis ever was, but still.  Zayn doesn’t gripe or complain, settling into a corner of the couch and Niall makes him a cup of tea that he doesn’t completely hate.  It’s a swirl of vanilla, orange and lemon that Zayn sips at with an arched eyebrow – “Okay, El has been teaching me how to make proper tea, happy? Bloody tosser.” – as Niall snuggles up to him.  Niall doesn’t ask any questions, clicks on the television to watch another one of his shitty reality programs that Zayn sighs at but he doesn’t bother removing the arms Niall has encircled around his middle.  He merely pats Niall’s head, nestling his cheek to that snapback and they sit in warm silence, small touches reminding Zayn that Niall and Louis were still the most important things in his life after Safi.

He wakes up a little too early the next morning, probably because Safi’s almost always a ball of bright energy in the mornings and Zayn’s certain he got that from Perrie, maybe his mum who always woke him for school with a grin and a song.  He calls into the restaurant, apologizes to Paul because he knows he won’t be able to make it in for his afternoon shift, or the evening one because he knows Niall has plans and Louis has his date with Harry.  Paul sounds understanding and Zayn wonders if it’s because of the uneasiness in Zayn’s voice or just because Paul’s a good guy.  He thinks it’s the latter but Paul still offers him some encouragement, even promises Zayn a few extra shifts on the weekend if he needs them.  Zayn knows he does but he doesn’t say it and the silence between the two ends the conversation.

Niall skips class, Louis stopping by after work, and it’s a little bit much but he doesn’t wave them off when they crowd around Safi, take turns playing with him until Safi’s a giggling mess and Zayn’s chewing at a smile from a corner of the couch.  Niall isn’t brave enough to feed Safi – _“I still can’t get those shit carrot stains from my shirt and, really, why does all baby food taste so awful?”_ – so he trades off with Louis when it’s time to change Safi’s diaper.  Zayn lets Louis cuddle up to him when Niall dances around Safi to some silly song he’s made up which is mainly about his adoration for Nando’s and pretty girls with big brown eyes, Louis snorting while tangling his fingers with Zayn’s.  Niall passes out for a kip before Safi does, Zayn’s eyes lit up with reverie as he plays a game of peek-a-boo with Safi that’s more outrageous fits of laughter from Safi while Zayn peeks playfully from behind his hands.

Louis leaves a little before six, determined to spend at least an hour getting ready for Harry though Louis denies he’s in the least bit excited about any of it.  Zayn nods along sympathetically because, honestly, he knows Louis nothing but a lying sack of shit but it sounds brilliant the way he plays his part.  Niall locks himself away in his bedroom to study, or masturbate, Zayn can’t decide before hopping in the shower and dashing out to meet up with El and her friends for drinks at some nice pub across town Zayn’s only been to a few times.

Safi’s a little bit restless for a while, pulling at Zayn’s hair when they’re both lying on Zayn’s bed and Zayn’s not really sure what troubles him until he remembers what Liam did, gently rubbing his finger against Safi’s gums.  He’s still teething and not even Zayn’s soft humming seems to calm him and Zayn considers, just for a second, ringing up Liam but only because he was brilliant with Safi when he was this upset.  He doesn’t.  He cradles Safi into his arms, sings a soft song his mum sang to him when he was little and Safi’s got glassy eyes, looking up at Zayn with a quiet innocence to his face that guts Zayn.

He can’t do this.  He can’t ruin this child’s life with his own shit.

He showers with Safi in his arms, sliding a slick hand over Safi’s damp hair as Safi grins up at him, big beautiful lilac eyes that Zayn loses himself in.  Safi runs his small palm over the ink sketched over Zayn’s collarbone, entranced by every line, every dark mark.  Safi coos when Zayn kisses his forehead, runs his scruff gently over Safi’s skin until Safi’s giggling again.  The scent of lavender and cool mint fill Zayn’s senses, eyes blinking shut under the cascade of water.  He wishes the pressure was a little stronger, the kind that would massage his muscles, rinse away his doubt and frustration.  He wishes he lived somewhere nicer than this shit flat with the poor lighting when he wants to draw, the door that creaks every time Niall enters his bedroom, those horribly dull walls in Niall’s room and the kitchen.

He cuddles Safi closer, eyes still shut, wishing he could offer Safi more than all of this.

Safi’s sleeping on his chest in the living area, Zayn on his back and sinking into that crummy couch when there’s a soft knock at the door.  Safi doesn’t move, soft even breaths warming Zayn’s bare chest.  He rubs gently at Safi’s back, considers not even bothering because it was late enough that it could be Louis this time.  Maybe Niall, but he doubts it.  There’s another knock, a little louder than the last, and he is only lifting Safi as he pushes upright and laying him gently onto the couch because he’s afraid the noise will wake Safi.  It took him far too long to settle Safi tonight and, _fuck_ , he hasn’t even had a cigarette in hours so he’s more than jittery himself.  He runs a quick hand over that russet hair once more before nearly running toward the door before there’s another knock.

“What the fuck Lou,” Zayn hisses when he jerks the door open but it’s not Louis.  It’s definitely not Niall and Zayn just stands there, blinking at Liam who’s rubbing shyly at the back of his neck with a gentled smile over those perfect lips.

Zayn rubs at his temple with his middle and forefinger, breathing out that sticky breath that’s been clinging to his chest since he pulled the door open.  Liam’s shifting his bare feet over the hardwood floor, teeth biting at the edge of his lip now and Zayn can’t help the way he’s staring.  He can’t help the way he watches those brown eyes, too many days since he’s looked into them without the fear of Liam ignoring his existence.  He watches those thick fingers, the way they massage over the nape of Liam’s neck, across that birthmark he’s kissed along, down that silly Captain America shirt that was actually pretty cool, though Zayn never tells him that.  He glares at those lips, the ones that are just the right shade of dark pink that they’re almost red and he doesn’t know why he hears that song Harry plays sometimes while dancing in his flat – _I tie my hands up to a chair so I don’t fall that way_ – curls swaying as he moves like an erratic robot if there were such a thing.

“Liam,” Zayn whispers.  It’s the only thing on his mind, the tip of his tongue and he’s not at all blushing when it crosses his lips.

“Hey,” Liam chews out nervously, feet still fidgeting.

Zayn wants to reach out and touch him to calm those nervous twitches of his fingers but restrains himself.  He knows he’ll be falling all over again.  Not that he ever stopped, it’s just, it’s Liam – _I took a sip of something poison but I’ll hold on tight._

Liam clears his throat, fingers tracing over the star on his chest.  “Can I come in?”

“Can you?” Zayn asks back and it’s a stupid question but he stands behind it just for fuck’s sake.

Liam snorts, head tilting and Zayn’s world sort of shifts right along with that one motion.

“I’d like to.”

“Then do it,” Zayn replies unevenly but he’s backing up, giving Liam permission.

“Do you want me around?” Liam asks first, taking a hesitant step forward but stopping to examine Zayn’s expression.

Zayn tries to keep a blank one, wanting to say _‘More than you’ll ever know’_ but it only comes out as, “Your choice.”

Liam frowns at that, that foot that inched forward suddenly drawing back.

“I can go.”

Zayn sighs, frustration lifting like a bonfire.  He pulls his fingers harshly through his still damp hair, raven strands tangling around those thin digits.

“Just,” Zayn groans, glancing to the couch where Safi’s still fast sleep, “Just, _please_.”

He knows there’s probably thick desperation in his eyes, a quiet need for understanding feeling so loud in his heart and he’s chewing the corner of his lip waiting for Liam to shake his head and walk away.

“Okay.” Liam nods at him, eyes still studying Zayn until he’s uncomfortable and, shit, he’s blushing because Liam’s so kind, gentle, understanding.  It’s killing him, just as silent as Liam’s looks are.

Liam steps inside, Zayn pushing the door closed quietly because Safi shifts a little on the couch when the floor creaks under Liam’s weight.  He watches Liam take a shaky step forward, Zayn staying far too close to the door before Liam’s looking over his shoulder, a small grin on those lips as he reaches back, hooks his fingers into the knot on Zayn’s sweats, tugging Zayn with him toward the couch.

They sit in silence for far too long, thighs touching, shoulders pressed together, wedged into the far end of the couch to give Safi room to sleep peacefully.  Zayn’s eyes are on the television that’s not even on, Liam’s eyes on Zayn and he feels restless underneath the weight of that stare.  He scratches his nails along the fabric of his charcoal gray joggers, Liam twiddling his fingers together and this isn’t one of those daft high school films about two friends madly in love but, unfortunately, it was as cliché as one of those silly plots.

Liam’s toe runs over Zayn’s foot, Zayn’s fingers slipping off his leg to run along the seam of Liam’s jeans.  It’s uncomfortably natural, the way these little touches make him feel at home.  Liam’s breathing is loud, Safi’s quiet, the cars outside creating their own melody through the open window nearby.  It’s a little after midnight and Zayn only knows that because there’s a reminder in his phone that vibrates against his thigh until he silences it, slips it underneath his leg while Liam hums quietly.  And Zayn’s pressing his thumb into Liam’s thigh, Liam’s toes tickling the arch of Zayn’s foot, Zayn’s head turning to find Liam wide-eyed and nearly defeated.

“How are you?” Liam finally asks.

Zayn shrugs nonchalantly, eyes flicking away again.  “I’m fine.”

Liam nods but there’s something in the undertow of his expression.  He wants to ask something, chewing at his lip, but Zayn doesn’t want to know what’s on his mind.  In fact, he sort of thinks he wants Liam to go now before he asks Liam to just shut up and hold him for a few hours.

“How is, um, you know,” Zayn waves his hand around but he can’t get it out.

“Danielle?”

Zayn nods jerkily, rubbing at his neck until he feels the sharp burn of his fingertips along his skin.

“She’s fine,” Liam says lowly, eyes dropping and he’s watching his hands instead of Zayn now.  “We’re not together, you know.”

Zayn leans back, tries not to look happy about that.  “Why?”

Liam sighs, drumming fingers idly against his leg.  “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“I do,” Liam huffs out, lifting his eyes and they’re stricken with hurt.  “But I don’t want to tell you.”

“I understand,” Zayn says with a nod, thinks he’d feel the same way if he was Liam.

That silence swells around them again, Zayn dragging his small nails over the back of Liam’s hand, feels cold when Liam looks at him almost disapprovingly for a moment before those features soften.  Liam’s fighting it, he can tell.  He lifts his brow, waits until that damn blank expression stops ghosting over Liam’s face.

“Niall told me,” Liam admits lowly, eyes drifting to Safi.  He smiles at that small body, the way Safi’s lips curl around a pacifier.  “He didn’t mean to.  I think he was a bit, I don’t know, worried about you I guess.”

Zayn wonders if he can bury Niall’s body next to Louis’, use Harry as his accomplice but the thoughts fade when Liam looks at him again.  He’s expecting a sympathetic face, something resembling an _“I’m sorry”_ as if that’ll make any of this any better.  But Liam looks at him like he cares about Zayn, like he wants nothing but Zayn to be okay.  And, fuck, it drags like fire against his skin.

Zayn leans further back, tips his head back against the end of the couch.  He watches the ceiling for a beat, thinks about painting it a nice pastel blue like that jumper Louis bought Safi the other day.  Liam’s rubbing a foot over his, somewhere in his daze a hand is slipped into his lap and he hates the way he instantly curls his fingers with Liam’s.

“I’m not a good father,” Zayn spits out, eyes still on the ceiling.  “I’m quite awful.”

“Zayn – “

Zayn shakes his head quickly, fingers tightening around Liam’s.  “I smoke, every day.  _Fuck_ , I smoke too much.  And I like a good hard drink at least once a drink.  I have a lot of moments where I just want to be alone.  I just want to shut the world the fuck out.”

Liam’s shifting closer, Zayn staying perfectly still until Liam’s pulling him in, crowding Zayn like he needs to be coddled.  He doesn’t.  He’s just saying things, stupid things, _honest_ things.

“I don’t have a career.  Hell, I didn’t even get to start Uni before Saf was here.  What kind of future can I give him?” Zayn adds, a bitter laugh trailing his words and he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Liam curls his arm around Zayn tighter, lips pressing to Zayn’s temple.

“Do you think he cares about any of that?” Liam asks softly, lips to Zayn’s ear.

Zayn shrugs weakly, eyes dancing over the hair on Liam’s arm, the tattoos, the way his fingers rub along Zayn’s skin.

“But it’s what I _want_ for him.”

“What about what you want for yourself?” Liam wonders, his nose nuzzling along Zayn’s cheek.

Zayn’s eyes shift close, breathes in Liam’s scent.  Fuck, he’s _missed_ it.  He’s wanted it along his sheets, against his skin, on his clothes for too long now.

“I want to be okay,” Zayn confesses and he doesn’t know why it doesn’t burn against his lungs like he thought it would.

“You _are_ okay.”

Zayn huffs out a laugh, tracing up Liam’s arm as Liam’s fingers rub idly at his yin yang tattoo.

“You have no clue, babe.”

Zayn feels Liam’s fingers when they curl under his chin, lift his head and Liam’s pulling back far enough that Zayn can look into those chocolate eyes without focusing too hard.  His thumb is running along the thick scruff on Zayn’s chin and, it’s not even remotely fair how easily Zayn falls for those damn large eyes.

“You’re okay,” Liam repeats firmly and Zayn’s helpless, nodding.  “You’re brilliant.  You’re a wonderful baba.  Safi’s going to be great with you.  And, I can’t, I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want to see how wonderful things turn out for you two.”

“Three,” Zayn says loosely, shocking himself.

Liam blinks at him, looks more than taken aback but Zayn’s speaking up before he can.

“The _three_ of us,” Zayn clarifies, swallowing back distant fear.  “I want to see how fantastic it’ll be for the three of us.”

“Us,” Liam says lowly, nodding.

Zayn blinks out a smile, resting his forehead against Liam’s.  “If you’ll stay.  If you’ll, I don’t know, if you’d like to.”

“Are you saying you’re ready?”

Zayn snorts at that, lips quirking high and sideways with his tongue pressing against his teeth when he smiles.

“I’m saying – “

“I love you,” Liam blurts out before Zayn can finish, his breathing a little uneven now and Zayn’s eyes are probably wider than they should be.  And it’s too hot, way too hot for August but Liam’s hand is running over his cheek, his nose is brushing against Zayn’s, tongue licking at dry lips.

“Is that okay?”

Zayn can’t nod, not the way they’re sitting with their heads together but he blinks a few times before whispering, “Yes.”

“And you, um, might love me one day too,” Liam says with a nervous snicker that sounds painfully sweet.

“I do,” Zayn whispers back like confessions such as this should be said quietly for just two people to hear even though there’s no one else around.

“Yeah?”

Zayn’s lips tilt sideways again, eyes wide.  “I love you.  Like, madly.”

Liam pulls back, nods before leaning in and Zayn keeps his eyes open when they kiss, something brief and chaste but it feels a million times better than any other kiss he’s certain they’ve shared.  It settles that racing heart in his chest, his hand reaching up to cover the one Liam still has against his face and Liam’s drawing back with a grin, something wickedly pure bleeding into his expression.

“Happy birthday,” Zayn says softly, inching in for another kiss.  He barely gets a moan from Liam’s lips before Liam’s resting a hand against Zayn’s chest, pushing him back with wide eyes.

“How, how do you know?”

Zayn smirks and he feels silly, really.  “I might’ve asked Harry,” he says offhandedly, lips tipping higher when soft blush rules Liam’s round cheeks.  “In fact, I might’ve asked Harry a lot of things.  About you.  I think he might think I make a right proper stalker.”

Liam snorts a laugh out, chewing on his lip. “Thank you.”

Zayn lifts his brow, watches the way something resembling pride sweeps Liam’s face.

“Wait here,” Zayn says swiftly, peeling away from Liam and he’s hopping off the couch before Liam can protest.

He rushes to the corner, the one where most of the books he’s finished sit, pushing a few things aside and when he finds what he wants, he grins.  When he goes to walk back to the couch, Liam’s shifted, slouching on the couch with Safi asleep on Liam’s slow rising and falling chest.  Zayn admires them for a second, a quiet symphony of emotions running thickly through his chest before he’s taking quiet footsteps back to them.

“Didn’t have enough quid saved up to get you something proper,” Zayn starts, holding up his sketchbook a little high for Liam, “But I thought I could at least try to do something for you just in case I was around for your birthday.”

Liam reaches out with the hand that’s not resting on Safi’s back, peeling the sketchpad from Zayn’s fingers and Zayn’s hesitant about releasing it, shrinking a little when Liam’s eyes go wide.

“You didn’t,” Liam utters, his voice shocked.

Zayn nods, blush riddling his cheeks when Liam trades glances between the paper and Zayn.

It’s nothing, really.  Not to Zayn, he tells himself.  It’s really rough and his colored pens nearly snapped at how tightly he held them while trying to find the right shading, the right amount of color, the curve of Liam’s jaw.  And he couldn’t really capture the rooftop properly, thinks he did a rather shitty job with the bat signal in the background but he watches the way Liam’s smile curves high, cheekbones raised, eyes crinkling at the corners until they almost look closed.

“It’s Batman.”

“ _You’re_ Batman,” Zayn tells him, quiet chuckle following.

Liam nods brightly, eyeing the comic book-style rendition of Batman leaning on a rooftop, the moon crinkled into a corner of the image and his cowl of his off, cape stretched in the wind.  And there’s no way Liam doesn’t recognize that birthmark on his neck, the curve of his nose, brown eyes smoldering.  Zayn chews on his bottom lip, hopes he’s gotten the softness of Liam’s cheeks right, the emblem on his chest, the way he pictures Liam as Batman drawn with all the little imperfections he hopes Liam doesn’t notice.

“It’s silly,” Zayn sighs out but his words sort of die in his throat when Liam surges forward, Safi still tucked against his chest, lips pressed firmly to Zayn’s.

“You make it quite impossible not to love you Zayn Malik,” Liam says against his lips, curved smile on his lips.

Zayn laughs, his thumb rubbing along the nape of Liam’s neck.  “Louis thought it’d be an ace idea.”

Liam nods, gentles another kiss to Zayn’s slightly chapped lips, pulling him down with Liam into the couch.  They manage to make it all fit, Zayn curled around Liam’s body, Liam’s arm and leg hanging off the couch with Zayn’s feet hanging off the arm of the furniture.  He feels a bit ridiculous but then Liam’s kissing the top of his head, stroking Zayn’s head until Zayn feels as peaceful as he’s certain Safi does against Liam’s chest.

And he hates that he has to admit it to himself but, fuck, Louis Tomlinson was sort of brilliant.  Shit ideas most of the time, but every once and a while, he’s fucking amazing.  His ideas too.

**

**Epilogue**

 

“Baba!  Watch baba!”

There’s a tipping smile on his lips at the shout, the evening sun painting the color the most unbelievable blend of oranges and pinks, streaks of bright yellow that he glances at for a moment before turning his eyes toward that giggling voice.  Zayn pushes the black framed glasses up his nose before lifting them up and letting them rest on his forehead.  The mid-July heat is cooling, not enough he thinks, but he’s not sweating and the breeze kicks the right amount of cool against his skin that he can tolerate the way the heat still sticks to his skin a little.  His toes wiggle from that comfortable patio chair he let Louis pick out for them and he sinks into its cushion, lowering his book before pulling at that loose white shirt that dips low enough that the sun strokes warmth over his collarbone and the tattoos there.

When he was younger, he pictured having a large house, a big family, loads of kids with the kind of wife that made pies on Sundays and a pair of dogs roaming the backyard while his children ran in the sun.  He doesn’t know exactly when that dream shifted to something a bit darker, him alone in a flat smoking tons of cigarettes while the world sort of passes him by, but he knows neither of those lives compare to the one he has now.

He knows this house, just near the edge of town where the fields of green grass stretch for limitless miles, with its rather nice backyard to roam in, is a bit better.  It’s not large, just one story, but it fits because he doesn’t feel suffocated in it or doesn’t hear the echo of his voice along the corners because it’s too large.  And he’s thought about getting a dog, Liam insisting it being one of those Alaskan husky dogs, maybe naming it something dorky like Bruce – _Wayne_ , definitely _not_ Banner because Liam’s still a DC guy at heart – maybe Grayson, or even Loki and Zayn tries not to make a face every time because, _really Liam_ , Loki?

“Are you watching baba?”

Zayn’s ears perk up at the sound, grinning toward Safi.  He’s much bigger now, his complexion a softer gold than Zayn’s, perked up smile on those pink lips.  He’s got big iris, almost lilac eyes with defined cheeks like Zayn, nose almost like Perrie’s and that russet brown hair is a shade darker in the winter but almost blonde-brown in the summer.  And he’s lithe like Zayn, always a bit too perky like Perrie was but almost always moody when he’s exhausted, something Zayn smirks at because he was too.

Perrie had called often those first few weeks, but Zayn felt the change almost immediately.  She talked more about singing, about life on the road, about the people she’d met.  She asked less and less about Safi after the first few calls, not even bothering to bring him up a month after leaving.  And the calls became fewer and fewer though she did call on Safi’s birthday and Zayn saw the way Safi was wide-eyed at the sound of her voice, not quite recognizing it and Perrie rushed him off the phone after that, promising to call later.  She didn’t.  She hasn’t in almost a year and Zayn wonders when that day will come when he’ll have to explain to Safi why his mum sort of disappeared somewhere in London.

He watches Safi try to dribble the ball between his feet, chasing it around because he’s not quite coordinated enough yet but he’s fairly good for a three year old.  He’s wearing that silly navy and white jersey – _“Of course, West Bromwich babe.”_ – that he wears almost obsessively ever since Liam bought it for him, the number one and his name in bold font on the back.  He puts great force and effort into his kick, the ball going wide and right over the bright green grass and it’s blocked swiftly by Liam’s shin, Liam kipping it up and bouncing it on his knee with a grin nearly twice the size of Safi’s.

Zayn chews on his thumbnail, smiling behind his knuckles – _‘Cause after all this time, I’m still into you._   He’s still fascinated by the way those brown eyes crinkle when he’s smiling, the way those round cheeks push up so high they’re pushing against those eyelashes.  He drags his hand over his brown hair, almost blonde in the sun.  It’s a little longer than it has been, almost half the size of Zayn’s quiff and Zayn can’t deny he loves the way it feels when they’re in bed together, Liam’s lips playing along his neck, dipping lower.  His skin is sun-kissed in the summer, a brilliant tan but Zayn thinks Liam still glows bright even in the winter.

He’s in love with those warm eyes, a soft brown that he never tires of.  It’s the curve of his chin, those thick eyebrows he’s spent so many nights tracing with his fingers while Liam slept cuddled close.  The way those fingers run along his stomach, over his shoulders, the calloused tips running over Zayn’s full bottom lip before Liam leans in for a kiss.  And it’s a kaleidoscope of fireworks when those strong arms circle Zayn’s leaner frame, that nose nuzzling to the crook of his neck, that strong frame supporting Zayn like it was built to ensure Zayn’s safety.

“Daddy!  Come on,” Safi whines but there’s a mocking grin on his lips like he’s far too old for his age.

Liam chews on the corner of his lip, nods before giving the ball a soft kick back toward Safi.

“Don’t try so hard this time Saf,” Liam advises, rocking back and forth on his heels as Safi nods.  “Just let it go.”

Safi nods again, tongue stuck out and licking his upper lip as he concentrates, lines up and the ball flies a little further this time, Liam catching it before it flings itself over that cherry wood fence Liam and Niall, well more Liam than Niall, put up a year ago when they first got the house.

“Good job buddy,” Liam cheers, easily tossing the football back and forth between his hands.

Safi grins brightly, a small fist pump that Zayn chuckles at, shifting in his chair until Liam’s inviting eyes settle on him, a curled smile just for Zayn.  His heart still catches at that – _I should be over all the butterflies but I’m into you._

Safi charges Liam, Liam quickly dropping the ball and he’s pulling Safi up into his arms easily, embracing him.  Liam lifts him like he did three years ago, even though Safi’s longer now, all limbs and bones.  He’s careful, strong hands that hold Safi like he’s fragile glass.  He presses a kiss to Safi’s forehead, Safi’s legs going around Liam’s hip and Safi’s making a face, scrubbing at his forehead before cackling with crinkled eyes like Liam’s.  He’s pushing up, Liam leaning down and Safi’s pressing a sloppy kiss to Liam’s cheek, arms thrown around Liam’s neck.

“I love you daddy,” Safi sighs out, head resting on Liam’s shoulder.

“Love you too Saf,” Liam whispers back, resting his cheek on the top of Safi’s head, his hand stroking Safi’s back.

Zayn swallows, fingers tightening around the book in his lap.  Safi took to Liam immediately after Perrie left.  There wasn’t that awkwardness when he got a little older, started to understand that he had two fathers instead of one.  He clung to Liam when he was upset, when he wanted to play.  He’d still creep into their bedroom at night when Liam moved into Zayn’s flat, Niall willingly giving up his room so Safi would have his own room and moving in with Harry.  Liam always hummed Safi back to sleep, shifting to hold Zayn while Zayn ran his hand over Safi’s head.  And Liam was there when Safi took his first step, when he said his first word – _“Babe.”_ –  and Zayn still blushes at that when Liam gives him a look.  He was right there when Safi said his second word – _“Dada”_ – and Safi was looking right at Liam when he said it, grinning with red-stained lips from the cranberry juice Louis had given him.  Louis had snorted, Harry taking a piss at Liam for nearly an hour, and Zayn was there later on when Liam was curled into their bed, eyes wet and sniffling but none of those tears were from sadness or frustration.

“Did he really call me that?”

Zayn nodded, chewing his bottom lip while thumbing away those thick tears.

Liam was taken aback, overwhelmed in the best way and Zayn sorted out he couldn’t have loved Liam anymore in that moment.

“Is that okay?” Liam whispered, his voice stuttering.

Zayn nodded again, fingers stroking down Liam’s cheek.  “It’s fantastic.”

Liam nodded with him, his brow knit together but there was a smile curving against his lips.  They didn’t have to say much else and when Zayn slipped inside of Liam a little later, achingly hard as Liam’s hole willing stretched and welcomed him, Liam was still smiling, eyes locked on Zayn like Zayn had given him the world without trying.  Zayn thinks Liam had given him the world far before that, tells him that just before he comes with Liam’s name panted across his lips.

“I love you too baba!” Safi shouts wildly and Zayn’s shaken from his thoughts.  He’s smiling up at Safi as they stand over him, Liam’s wide shoulder blocking out the sun and there’s a halo from the light around them.

“You must not know your father Saf,” Louis says and Zayn gazes over his shoulder to where Louis leans in the sliding glass doorway, Harry slumped behind him to hug onto Louis’, his chin on Louis’ shoulder.

Those blue eyes are still a brilliant cerulean, a beanie covering that brown hair and there’s way more scruff on his face than there was years ago.  There’s more ink too, Harry’s own addiction becoming Louis’ new thing and Louis no longer all Topman and rolled up jeans.  He’s sweats, loose fitting sleeveless shirts and Zayn sort of misses the days of all too bright shirts and way too tight chinos.

“Hmm?”

Louis snorts, inches into the backyard when Harry releases him.  “He’s a right wanker when he wants to be.”

Zayn waits until Safi looks at Liam curiously before flipping Louis off, grinning while nipping at his bottom lip.

Liam lowers Safi, huffing out a grin and a nod for Harry, who’s still tall and dresses like a hipster, but there’s more muscle to accompany that height, those curls not as long but still thick and shiny.

“Uncle Lou!  Uncle Haz!”

Louis laughs when Safi hurls himself at them, bends down to hug Safi tightly while Harry scrubs his knuckles over the top of Safi’s head until Safi’s swatting him away.  And Louis scooping Safi up, spinning them around into the grass laughing as Safi squeals happily.

Zayn sighs out a smirk, feels the chair dip a little as Liam settles down next to him, inching in to press a kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth.  Zayn eases back, Liam encircling his waist with those strong arms, fingers interlocking before Liam’s kissing at the angel wings tattooed high on Zayn’s chest.  Zayn grins, eyes looking down to watch the way that feather tattoo stretches and flexes on the inside of Liam’s forearm – _Let ‘em wonder how we got this far because I don’t really need to wonder at all_ – because he knows the meaning behind it.  He knows the meaning behind every piece of ink now.

“How’s the new flat with Lou?” Zayn asks as Liam rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder, his cheek warm and gentle against Zayn.

Harry sighs but there’s a smile shifting over those cherry lips.  “He’s constantly bringing home weird things to decorate with.  He says that it needs some life or some crazy shit like that.”

Zayn doesn’t hide his grin, peeking past Harry to where Louis and Safi are kicking the ball around, chasing each other like a couple of, well, _children_.

“But he lets me handle all of the bedroom things, even said he’d let me paint one of the walls orange,” Harry says cheerily, head tilting to the side to admire Louis chasing Safi in circles.  “And I don’t really mind that he wants to buy a couple of silly plants or some brill wine glasses for when we have company.  He’s kind of obsessive that way and it just makes me, um, horny.”

Zayn gawks at him, Liam chuckling into the crook of Zayn’s neck and Harry’s cheeks are pinker than the sky above.

They talk about things other than sex while Louis and Safi play.  Harry ask about the record store, the one that Liam’s uncle left to him when he died two years back.  Zayn remembers wiping away Liam’s tears, assuring him they’d make it work and Liam did.  He made the place more youth friendly, drawing in a huge crowd from all the Uni students who were suddenly into vinyl and wanted the Rolling Stones, David Bowie, jazz records and even some of the better Nirvana stuff that Harry helped bring into the store.  And it was Harry’s suggestion to have an acoustic night once a week, one that Niall frequented with Josh, playing his own set with Harry’s friend Ed who was rather brilliant with a guitar and that voice was a stroke of gold against the ears.  Liam would sing once a month with Harry and Niall while Cher, a foulmouthed but brilliantly ace Uni girl, and Martin, Liam’s brother-in-law, manned the store, Zayn finding his own corner to sip coffee and let that voice he’s heard in the shadows of his room stutter his breathing.

Zayn tells Harry about the deal he’s struck with a local magazine, publishing short stories and essays that’s pays well enough, along with the record store, that he and Liam have enough money left over for the house, new toys for Safi, that sound system Liam wanted but that Zayn uses more than Liam while curled up on their black couch while studying for Uni – He almost balked at Liam when he suggested Zayn give it another try but Liam was all warm smiles and comforting touches when Zayn filled out the application – or while reading a book.

Harry’s not doing bad either, moving into a promotional gig for the University radio station after all of the wonderful things he did for the record store and Zayn thinks Harry’s boss, some loud and painfully happy guy named Nick, is sort of in love with Harry but he doesn’t tell Louis because he’s dreadfully possessive of Harry.  Not nearly as awful as Zayn is with Liam, but his temper is more like a hurricane compared to Zayn’s quiet jealousy.

And Liam tells Harry all about the way his parents are coming for a visit to spend time with Safi.  Zayn smiles at that, at the way Liam’s father was more than a little awkward when Liam brought Zayn over for dinner the first but they somehow ended up in a conversation over art or music that brought a crinkled smile to his father’s lips.  Liam’s mum adored Zayn, prattled on and on about how happy Zayn made her son, flipping through endless books of baby pictures and Zayn couldn’t help but grin at the way Liam hadn’t changed much, the way he sort of reminds Zayn of Safi with his smile, bright eyes.  And, when they met Safi for the first time, Liam’s mum gushed over him and Zayn didn’t tense up when Liam’s father swung an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, grinning proudly before saying, “Thank you for giving my wife something to smile about.  And an adorable grandson to spoil.”

Liam is the one who called Zayn’s mum, his sisters too.  Zayn wasn’t angry, not entirely, but the nerves that left him shaking for hours before they came by when Safi was just a little over a year old to celebrate Zayn’s birthday made him want to strangle Liam.  Doniya sat for hours chatting with Niall and Louis, bouncing Safi in her lap while Waliyha made fun of how much better looking he was going to be compared to Zayn and Safaa made faces endlessly until Safi was giggling and reaching out for her.  His mum was mostly quiet, leaning in that chair in the corner of the flat until Liam sat next to her, rubbing a comforting hand over her shoulder, whispering to her until Zayn thought he saw tears lining her eyes.  And when Zayn finally brought Safi over to her, chewing on his lower lip and wondering when she was going to finally run away, she exhaled out a sob while reaching out for Safi, curling him close and kissing the top of his head endlessly like she would do for Zayn when he was upset.

His baba called a month later, stern voice that leaves Zayn cold until there’s nothing but silence hovering through the phone.  Liam has to hold his hand as Zayn swallows, wishes things were still different.  And he can’t breathe when his father sighs out a small whimper, apologizes with just a simple phrase that leaves Zayn a wreck for hours: “Haan, mein tum se pyaar karta.”  He barely gets out, “I love you too baba,” before the conversation is over and it takes almost another year before Safi meets Zayn’s father.

“When’s Niall coming by?” Liam wonders, tipping his head back with a hand over his brow to block out the sun.

“Should be soon,” Harry says, glancing down at his phone.  “He had to pick up El from the metro.  She’s just getting back from London.”

Liam nods, lazily edging a smile onto his lips.  Zayn hates that he wants to drag Liam inside to kiss at those thick lips for hours while Harry and Louis watch Safi.  It wouldn’t be the first time, but still – _Some things just make sense and one of those is you and I._

“Can you believe that knucklehead actually proposed to Eleanor?  I was certain he’d never have the nerve,” Harry snorts, sweeping his long fingers through his hair before swiping it back and it all falls into place like some sort of magic trick.

“Hey,” Louis calls out, ruffling his hands through Safi’s hair but his look is deathly serious.  “That sweet ass of hers still has _Property of the Tommo_ tattooed on it.”

Safi smacks Louis’ thigh with a gasp.  “Uncle Lou, no swearing!  Daddy’s going to put you in timeout.”

Liam muffles a laugh behind his hand, Zayn smiling fondly while Louis makes a mocking face at Safi before laughing, scooping Safi up into his arms once more and they’re spinning, giggling wildly in the haze of the sun.

It’s some time later, when the blues and pinks of the skyline start to fade, the purple sliding underneath the layers and the sun is a smudged orange far into the background, that Niall and Eleanor come by with boxes of takeaway and they’re all huddled on the patio.  Louis sits in Harry’s lap on one of the chairs, Safi wedged happily between Niall and Eleanor who barely manage to stop staring at each other long enough to tease Safi and tell awful jokes that Safi giggles helplessly at while Louis rolls his eyes.  Zayn sits in the same chair, Liam’s arm folded around his shoulders and their fingers are interlocked while eating Indian food from that little spot that Zayn loves, chewing with a grin while Liam sits wide-eyed from all the spicy food.

“I’ve got a brilliant idea,” Louis says loudly, pushing himself up and there’s far too many distrusting eyes on him before he’s fitting his hands on his hips, pouting.

“It better not involve a plant,” Zayn warns.

“Or lavender-scented lube,” Liam whispers lowly, Zayn smirking.

“Or going to the club,” Harry adds cheekily with a grin.

“No tattoos,” Eleanor points out, head leaning onto Niall’s shoulder.

“And please, nothing illegal, yeah?  I’m getting married in a month,” Niall begs before snorting when Louis flips him off.

“Can we watch _Toy Story_?” Safi wonders, blinking big puppy eyes at Liam and Zayn nudges him with a smirk because he knows that look alone will melt Liam.

It’s their favorite thing to do on Sundays, sitting around with Safi snuggled up to Liam’s chest, Liam grinning the entire way while lowly singing every single word to ‘You’ve Got a Friend In Me’ with large, childlike brown eyes.  And Liam would let Zayn sleep for hours, Safi huddled up next to him while Liam read him stories or let Safi flips through a few comics while Liam held Zayn closely, lips tracing Zayn’s hairline with gentle and warm kisses – _Baby, not a day goes by that I’m not into you_.

“You lot are right mental, you know that?” Louis hisses, brow wrinkled with a sideways pout on his lips.

“That’s a compliment coming from you, yeah?” Niall teases.

Zayn makes a noise before Louis can let the words fall from his lips, head shaking wearily because Safi was still there and Zayn can only imagine how many four-letter words Louis had managed to combine in his mind to make brand new, unheard insults intended for Niall.

“My ideas are fantastic,” Louis insists and even Zayn has to raise his eyebrow at that.

“Really?” Niall barks out a laugh, blue eyes wrinkled when his cheeks push up.

Louis rolls his eyes when Eleanor giggles with Niall, Safi laughing too even though Zayn’s certain he doesn’t understand any of it.  And Louis’ glaring at him, Zayn shrugging because he still remembers the fire they almost started when they were teens and he’s certain his aversion to hairspray for those next few months were all because of one Louis Tomlinson.

Louis sighs dramatically, fists his hand into his pocket before yanking out a small black box.  He narrows his eyes at Zayn before grumbling, “Well it was my idea for Liam to give this to you,” tossing the box at Zayn who catches it in both hands with his brow lifted.

He fiddles with the box in his hands, just small enough that it could hold some sort of jewelry and he’s blinking at Liam, watching the way Liam chews on his bottom lip, blush knotting in his cheeks the way it does when Liam’s nervous about something.  And he feels five sets of eyes on him, Safi’s too, as he slowly lifts the lid on the box, his own eyes growing immensely when the tilting light of the sun glimmers off the silver ring.

It’s nothing gaudy, overdone with way too much gold and sparkle like Louis would like.  It’s not flashy or noticeable like the one Niall gave Eleanor after saving up for almost six months.  In fact, it’s sort of simple but complex with its thin black band of metal running through the center and it’s almost platinum-shaded, lightweight between Zayn’s fingers when he pulls it out and lets it rest in his palm.

Harry’s grinning, Eleanor cooing while Niall leans into her, nodding with a smile.  Louis has his arms folded over his chest but he’s smirking like he’s completely chuffed with what he’s done.  Safi’s still blinking, confusion melding into his expression but Zayn can’t find the words to explain because, honestly, he doesn’t understand it all himself.

Liam’s leaning into his ear, his warm breath leaving a prickling shiver down Zayn’s spine.  And, _fuck_ , this feels so cliché with the box, the friends, the kind of night that was warm and beautiful.  He doesn’t have tears lining his eyes as he grips at the ring, pushes it so far into his palm that it leaves an imprint.

“I’m sort of in love with you.  And Saf too.  And every little thing about you, good and bad.  And, I don’t know, I thought maybe you could use a little something to remind you of that all the time,” Liam says lowly, Louis and Niall leaning in to hear every word but they’re sort of blurred spots in Zayn’s vision because those damn tears are getting thicker.

Zayn exhales a shuddering breath, wishes he had a cigarette even though he’s trying to quit.  He _really_ is.  And, fuck, he can feel Liam’s smile against his ear and it’s contagious, his own smile a little lopsided.

“And you don’t have to say anything or even wear it right now,” Liam adds.  His fingers are stroking the back of Zayn’s hand, the one that’s clutching that ring that’s hard against his skin, cool in the best kind of way.  “But I hope you do.  I hope you’re okay with it.  I hope you know that it means I’m yours, fully, when you’re ready.”

Zayn’s bottom lip trembles and he can’t say anything.  He nods, a small movement of his head that says just enough for Liam to grin against his ear.

“Don’t be daft,” Louis chides with a hiss.  “Say you’ll marry that incredible chap who loves you, you arse.”

“Uncle Lou – “

Louis holds up a finger at Safi, eyes still on Zayn.  “Kid, I’m trying to make magic happen right now.”

“When I’m ready?” Zayn breathes out, turning a little and Liam’s eyes are far from that nervous, shy, or even the slightly cold person he knew too many years before.  He’s… bright and brilliant.

Liam nods, teeth sliding over his bottom lip and Zayn’s reaching up, rubbing his thumb over Liam’s chin.

“It’s always going to be me, you, and Saf,” Liam assures him, leaning in to rest his forehead against Zayn’s.  His smile quirks higher, tongue licking at the pad of Zayn’s thumb before whispering, “The ring is sort of our way of letting everyone else know that.”

“When I’m – “

“When you’re ready to be mine,” Liam snickers out, but his eyes are full of some sort of desperately bright love, “ _forever._ ”

Zayn swallows, ignores the way the others are still watching them.  He hears Eleanor let out a shuddering breath, one that matches his.  And Niall’s whispering something to Harry who’s making a humming noise.

“I’m ready,” Zayn finally whispers, blinking out a thick tear that slides down his nose, over his lips.  Liam kisses it away with a grin, thumbing over Zayn’s slick skin.

“Is baba okay?” Safi asks, looking around helplessly and Zayn can see from the corner of his eye the way he wants to cry.

Louis grins, yanks Safi up into his arms and he makes a rather unpleasant sound at the weight of Safi against his small frame.  Harry’s standing too, rubbing at Safi’s back until he’s smiling up at Harry, head leaning on Louis’ temple.

“Come on kid.  Let Uncle Lou and Uncle Harry tell you the story about how your baba and daddy hated each other and then fell in love,” Louis chimes, winking at Zayn who’s still pressed so close to Liam he can feel Liam’s heartbeat in every kiss Liam settles to his lips.  And he and Harry are carrying Safi into the house, Eleanor and Niall following with knowing smirks like all of this was planned.  Like they all knew where it was going the moment they got there.  As if they all knew where this was headed three years ago when Harry and Liam moved into Wagner’s old flat, with that stupid plant sitting in the doorway and too many cigarettes and Justin Timberlake for any of this to have been one of those classically clichéd love stories.

But it sort of was and Zayn was okay with that.  He was okay when Liam slipped the ring on Zayn’s finger, okay with Liam pushing him back in the chair and those kisses, _fuck_ , those kisses were amazing like they’ve always been.  The way Liam’s hands were on either side of his face, lips moving gentle and rough at the same time like he was making a promise to fuck Zayn for hours until neither one of them ever forgot they belonged to each other.  The way Liam kept whispering, _“I love you”_ and _“I’m going to marry you”_ echoed in his brain in the most incredible way.  And Zayn knew, when they did make it to the bedroom, he’d remind Liam how much he was in love with him.  When they were done, breathless and sweaty, he’d tell Liam all about how it was all Louis’ idea to go to the club that rainy night.

And Louis Tomlinson’s ideas just might not have been the worst he’s ever heard.

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't too fluffy was it? I almost took out the whole epilogue because I didn't know if it was a little over the edge when it came to sappy, happy endings but, hey, maybe I'll edit it one day and just get rid of that part. But if you survived reading all of that sugary sweetness, maybe I haven't scared you off too much?
> 
> A special thank you to [Safaa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17) who helped give me the joy that was Safi. I never imagined writing a Ziamkid!Fic but, never say never, eh? She truly was very helpful to me and I couldn't ask for a better person to talk to about all of my crazy ideas.
> 
> Thank you for reading this. I'm sorry if I don't get a chance to reply when you comment but I read EVERY comment anyone leaves me and it makes everything I write worth it when I hear feedback. Okay, enough already. Sorry this was so long (the story too). xxJesse :)


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